


Gnosiology

by Kokochan, TheBlueSpanch



Series: Of The Pack [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliens, Because BOTH Writers Are Wusses, Dragons, Drama, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Humor, M/M, Magic, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polydins, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Space Battles, Space Pirates, Team as Family, That Last Tag Should Be SUNG, Worldbuilding, so many
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 99,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kokochan/pseuds/Kokochan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlueSpanch/pseuds/TheBlueSpanch
Summary: Shiro glanced up at the Castle again, cold and distant as the neighboring mountain peaks.  This was Zarkon as he had been ten thousand years ago, on a planet that no longer existed.  Still young, still a hero, still untouched by the evil that had claimed him.  Shiro could not bring himself to lie to this young man, who knew nothing of what he would one day become.“No,” he said quietly, “I'm an Oracle, and I'm having a Vision.”
Relationships: Allura & Coran & Hunk & Keith & Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt & Shiro, Allura/Hunk (Voltron), Allura/Hunk/Keith/Lance/Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro, Allura/Keith (Voltron), Allura/Lance (Voltron), Allura/Pidge | Katie Holt, Allura/Shiro (Voltron), Hunk/Keith (Voltron), Hunk/Lance (Voltron), Hunk/Pidge (Voltron), Hunk/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Keith/Pidge (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Lance/Pidge (Voltron), Lance/Shiro (Voltron), OC/OC, Pidge | Katie Holt/Shiro
Series: Of The Pack [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/800172
Comments: 169
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WE LIVE!!! And we have a nice long chapter to kick off this new arc! We want to to thank Dai_n_Nite for this story's title, as well as everyone else who sent us suggestions! Enjoy, and stay safe, healthy, and happy!

Gnosiology

Chapter 1: Arrivals—Past, Present, and Future

The _Chimera Rising_ burst out of hyperspace and into a section of the cosmos that was usually ignored by astrocartographers; it was utterly dark out here, and as empty as a patch of hard vacuum could be, and that allowed Lizenne to breathe a shuddering sigh of relief. Inzera might have been incapacitated, but a number of her closest cronies had not been, and the moment that Jasca had stopped jamming the House's comms, they had started shouting for help on every channel they could find. The _Chimera_ was fast and the Marmorans even faster, but they had only just barely gotten clear, and had been forced to random-walk over a goodly section of the region before coming to rest here. For all that she trusted her fellow pilots, she did not breathe easily again until all of the ships carrying House Khorex'Var had arrived as well.

Modhri slumped in the copilot's seat with a tired grunt and asked, “Is that everyone, Jasca?”

“ _Every last one, and we've lost the enemy,”_ Jasca replied, sounding grimly pleased. _“Bantax is no slouch at his job—he made sure that all of those transport craft had dummy drones to confuse our trail with, and I do believe that he had to launch them all. Hah. Shows you the value of what we've stolen, hasn't it?”_

Modhri smiled. “Each and every member of my family is a gem. Ah, gods, it has been so long...”

He frowned then, and asked, “Did any of Lizenne's relatives come along for the ride?”

“ _A few. Just a few, but they had good reason.”_ Jasca's avatar indicated a couple of ships. _“One stowaway, determined not to let her best friend leave her behind. One child, taken along because his father didn't want him, and his nanny wasn't about to leave him unprotected. Runts have a hard way to go, even in a loving family.”_

Lizenne's expression hardened. “Regrettably true. And the last?”

“ _Cropped up pregnant by a Khorex'Var man, and knew better than to stay where her family could get their hands on her or the cubs.”_ Jasca sniffed disapprovingly. _“I'm told that your Matriarchs didn't allow intermarriage.”_

Lizenne winced and rubbed at her eyes. “No. If we did, we would be forced by law to acknowledge them as something other than indentured servants. It would also foul up the breeding program. Every Khorex'Var girl and all of the best boys have their mates chosen for them by the Matriarchs with an eye toward excellence, and so it has been for ten thousand years. If nothing else, we've gotten remarkable results.”

Modhri gave her a wry smile and patted her hand. “A backhanded complement, but one that I'll accept all the same. At least we do have value, hmm? Those patrol ships didn't dare open fire. Ah—and there's the Castle, right on time.”

Lizenne grinned and reached for the comm. “A thing of beauty and a joy forever. Greetings, Castle! Did you have a nice adventure?”

Allura's face popped up on the screen, looking fresh and clean and cheerful. _“Greetings,_ Chimera, _parts of it were excellent. Were you able to conclude your business with your House in a satisfactory manner?”_

“And then some,” Modhri said calmly. “May we come aboard? The transport craft are good, but not terribly comfortable, and my family is eager to make your acquaintance.”

“ _And we'll be delighted to meet them,”_ Allura said graciously, and then giggled. _“Is there a reason why we are being so polite?”_

Lizenne grimaced, showing sharp teeth. “I've had to be astonishingly rude to my family's highest authority figure recently, and I feel that a little courtesy is due to the kin-group that actually means something right now. Blame it on my instincts, Allura, but I keep forgetting that the Castle is your Domain, not mine. We're about to impose upon your personal space in a very big way, and I'm sorry for whatever discomfort that causes.”

Allura gave Lizenne a long, sympathetic look, probably able to see how the events of the past couple of days had shaken the Galra woman. They had, more than a little, and holding it off had been a strain. _“That's perfectly all right, Lizenne, and we've gotten everything as ready for them as we can. Please alert your passengers that we do have a Hoshinthra aboard—a result of one of the less-than-excellent moments of our adventures—and Pidge will be handing out pins. She'll also be standing by to make sure that he and his mother will be on their very best behavior. The dragons are keeping an eye on him, but, well, you never know.”_

Modhri chuckled ruefully. “Indeed not. Stand by for boarding then, my Lady, and we'll see if we can get this done with as little chaos as possible.”

It was a testament to the organizational skills of Modhri's relatives that there was hardly any chaos at all. The cubs and younger children were nervous and frightened, of course, but the adults had all come aboard with expressions ranging from grim determination to open joy. They traveled light; each one carried only a single pack of the dearest necessities and nothing more; it seemed that they had all been preparing for this day for some considerable time, and they filed neatly into the Castle's flight deck in so orderly a fashion that even the strictest of drill sergeants wouldn't have been able to find fault in them. It was, of course, precisely at this moment that one of the mothers-to-be went into labor.

Coran, fortunately, had experienced something like this before, and he was a marvel of efficiency as he whisked a hoverchair out of storage and got her transported into the nearest private apartment, reminiscing all the way. “Wouldn't be the first time this sort of thing has happened,” he said cheerfully as he maneuvered his growling passenger into the lift and shooing her jittery husband and mother in after her. “Last time was, hmm, had to be that last delegation of Ulomnians, about a phebe or two before Zarkon went completely bonkers and took over the Empire. One of their secretaries had been getting up to naughty behavior with one of the diplomatic staff, and they're mass-spawners. It was her first time, d'you see, and that makes the timing a bit iffy, and it was right in the middle of a truly stultifying debate that she... well... let's just say that the little wigglers got _everywhere._ Had to bait 'em out from under the furniture and down from the light fixtures with bits of raw fish from the kitchen, and it took a solid movement to scrape all of the mucus off of the—aha, and here we are, level one, room one, and as comfy as they come! We've set the whole residential block to Galran standard, and I'll show you how to tweak things when all the excitement's over. Congratulations, by the way, my Lady, do you need anything else?”

The expectant mother groaned under the demands of her impatient offspring and glared at her companions. “Get this blithering fool out of here before I rip his face off and shove it up his ass.”

Coran had also heard several variations on that theme from expectant mothers, so he took that as his cue to make a discreet exit and headed back down to the flight deck to see if anything else was about to go boom.

Not “boom” so much as “gronk”, he found a moment later; Tilla and Soluk had arrived to inspect the newcomers, and there was a great deal of sniffing, sneezing, and giggling going on. Pidge, thankfully, was standing well away from the crowd with both hands firmly clamped on Antler Guy's nasal bone. The Paladins were greeting everyone and moving them along toward the big lifts, and Coran saw glints of green passing from hand to hand as they went along. Nobody had panicked at the sight of the dragons or the doom moose, thankfully, but everyone old enough to have a shirt on was wearing a pin, and many of them were staring wide-eyed at the three very large beasts. That was only to be expected, of course. It always took a little while to get used to the dragons. As for the Hoshinthra...

Pidge had let go of its nose for the moment and seemed to be lecturing it sternly now, which probably meant that its mother had said something inappropriate. The sight had Coran recalling a neighbor of his, who had been uncommonly good at handling large and fractious beasts. The Humans had a term for that sort of talent, a “whisperer”; quite poetic, he thought, although whispering wouldn't do it for Kssshraoca and her lot. For Hoshinthra, it was shouters and scolders or nothing. Either way, the glittering creature folded its legs and lay down, tail curled demurely against its side, and didn't move from that spot when Pidge strode away. It did keep its antennae spread, though, and watched curiously while the sea of Modhri's relatives passed through. Coran nodded in satisfaction and went to help corral a clutch of runaway cubs.

In the end, only a small group remained in the vast cavern of the flight deck; small but vociferous, and Modhri stood in the center of it all, his expression one of relief and joy. Lizenne stood nearby, but was not a part of that discussion, and Keith had the feeling that something deeply cultural was going on. He approached cautiously, sidling up to Lizenne and asking, “Is everything all right?”

Lizenne nodded. She looked tired, he noticed, and there were lines of strain under her eyes that he'd never seen there before. “Better than all right,” she murmured back. “When my great-aunt sent Modhri off to the Military, she did so to get him as far away from me as she could, even going so far as to sponsor his apprenticeship at the Atelka Shipyard once his early training was completed.”

Keith blinked. “That was the place where Sam and Matt were being held, right?”

“The very same,” Lizenne smiled thinly. “Their teaching programs were considered to rank among the very best, and among the most intensive; the trainees did not get vacation time, nor were they allowed to go home for at least four years. Even after he completed that course, his grades prompted the Military's Engineering Corps to snap him up, and he worked on Parzurak Spacehab for several more years before being assigned to a ship.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah, and then he saved it after the captain got blown up, and they gave him the ship and the rank. Then it was twelve years of hunting Gantarash, right?”

“Up until that damned fool of a lieutenant decided to steal his command, yes.” Lizenne sighed. “This might have freed Modhri to go on to greater things, but his family has not seen him in the flesh for over twenty years. My Matriarch had declared him dead, Keith, and stole the bulk of his effects and pension packet, which by rights should have gone to his mother.”

Keith scowled. “That's almost like grave robbing, isn't it?”

“Yes, very much so.” Fury warred with weariness in her eyes, and she shook her head in disgust. “Keith, to steal from the dead and the newly-bereaved is a terrible and repulsive crime, and it makes me sick that my own kin have committed it. Have been committing it, and for generations. What Modhri and I have done over the last couple of days is only a small justice. Nowhere near enough to balance what my Lineage has done to them. I have this terrible feeling...”

Keith considered that, and the bone spear; just the thought of that weapon made his hand tingle in remembrance. “You're afraid that something bigger is going to happen to them. I'll bet that your gods get really upset at tomb raiders.”

She shuddered, and wrapped a long arm around his shoulders. “Very much so. I'm being superstitious, perhaps, but the fear is real. For all that I feel no fondness for most of them, they are of my blood and of my Pack, Keith.” Lizenne sighed deeply, and held him close. “Ah, well. Even if the worst happens, there is still me, and Modhri's kin have brought along two Ghurap'Han girls and a boy-cub. Whole Lineages have been resurrected from less in the past.”

Being an only son himself, Keith declined to comment. Instead, he turned his attention to the long-delayed family reunion. They had crowded closely around Modhri, and were all of them talking at once, and it was hard to get even an approximate headcount. There were an older couple that had to be Modhri's parents, and six men that couldn't be anything other than his brothers. Another five or six were probably older brothers and sisters, plus curious spouses, and a scattering of much younger ones that had to be nephews. Modhri currently had what was probably his niece in his arms, her own arms wrapped firmly around his neck. There was also one tall fellow with the long arms, three-fingered hands, and the long furry tail of a Palabekan Galra who looked terribly out of place, but no less happy than the others to be here. Keith heard an envious sigh behind him, and turned his head to see that the rest of his team had rejoined them. Lance was gazing wistfully at the clump of relatives, obviously missing his own.

“Wow, what a crowd,” Hunk said quietly. “Okay, we've got everyone settled in. They're all stressed out and really tired, and Bantax is pouty because nobody wants to join the Blades right now. He'll get over it. Those are Modhri's folks, right?”

Lizenne nodded. “His closest kin, yes. Give them a moment to catch up, if you would; while we got away from Nelargo and Galran Prime in good order, we were pursued hotly for some time afterward. The great skill and fine ships of the Blade of Marmora were well up to the task, but the speed of our departure and the persistence of the enemy left us no time for socializing.”

“It's been twenty-odd years since he's seen them, guys,” Keith added. “They need this.”

“I've alerted the _Osric's Quandary,”_ Allura informed them, “and have warned them that we will need a full restocking of our supplies, and soon. Yantilee was very understanding, and has directed us to a Fleet-controlled port in the Ausa Sector. Maozuh will be waiting for us there, and will help us with that chore. And with the cleanout, alas—the Castle's storerooms were full when Coran and I entered the cryopods, but ten thousand years is a bit past the expiration date for even the best preservative techniques.”

“Biggest fridge cleanout ever,” Pidge said, making a face. “Ugh. We should probably think about opening up the other two Hydroponics decks.”

“Already done,” Hunk said. “I've got two of them growing edible plants and herbs, and there are fruiting vines, bushes, and trees that I've got coming along, but the biggest one, that was made for field crops? That's full of Bessie.”

She stared at him. “The whole thing, just for one cow?”

Hunk waggled a stern finger at her. “That one cow needs a lot of feeding. She can eat a hundred pounds of grass per day, I'll have you know. Fortunately, her pasture's fast-growing and the composter can make a really good fertilizer from the cowflops, but I can't move anything else in there if you still want ice cream. Oh, Keith? The cheddar's almost done. I'd give it a few more days to make absolutely sure, and then it's burger time. And mac'n'cheese. Your call.”

Shiro brightened up. “I'd definitely like some macaroni, and you promised. Is there enough for both?”

“Plenty,” Hunk said, forming the shape of a fairly large circle in the air with his hands. “It's a twelve-inch wheel, so there should be enough to last for a while if we—oh, hi.”

The Palabekan had drifted away from the group and had approached them, moving with the grace of a professional dancer. He nodded politely, and asked, “You are the Paladins, yes?”

“That's us,” Lance said proudly.

“My adoptive nieces and nephews,” Lizenne said, no less proudly. “And you are?”

“Amatok Tharant'Adh,” he replied with a bow. “Morand's husband. And you...” He swept himself forward and down onto one knee in an impossibly elegant genuflection in Allura's direction, “...would be none other than the Princess Allura. I cannot express the depth of my gratitude, my Lady, for offering your ship up to house us. Lady Inzera had decided to breed my husband, never mind that we've been a bonded pair for decades, and had picked out the most astonishingly unsuitable, inbred, self-absorbed, vicious-tempered little termagant possible. She would have destroyed us both with that marriage.”

Lizenne's eyebrows rose in horror. “She'd go so far as to break up a bonded pair?”

Amatok flowed to his feet with a nod and a grimace of distaste. “She _auctioned him off,_ my Lady. Morand has been very successful over the past ten years or so, and lesser House or no, there was quite a bidding war among the High. Yes, that is illegal, and no, none of them cared. You came just in time—she would have shipped him off just this morning, I think.”

“Seriously?” Lance blurted in outrage. “I mean, seriously? I've heard of people doing that sort of thing for prize pets and livestock, but for people?”

Amatok gave him a grim smile. “To the noble Lady Inzera Ghurap'Han, Morand _is_ a prize beast, and a source of profit. His intended bride is a daughter of a very wealthy House, and their union would have bought the Matriarch a great deal of power, wealth, and influence. You can see why.”

Amatok waved an elegant hand at a tall man who was examining Modhri's scars. Modhri was quite handsome as Galra went, but his elder brother was _stunning._ He had that firm musculature, an excellence of proportion, the absolute grace and poise, and the perfect features of a true male beauty. Indeed, he was one of that rare sort that turns up only once in several generations and is immortalized in marble statuary as soon as the sculptors can get their chisels together.

Pidge vented a long, admiring whistle, remembering the poster she had seen on Thek-Audha. “Yeah. Wait, didn't he have something going with Lizenne's grandmother?”

“A business arrangement only,” Amatok chuckled, gazing fondly at his mate, “although it was amusing for both of them. It concluded amicably enough after a few years, at which point she introduced him to me. It was love at first sight, I'm very happy to say, and she defended us when we made our pair-bond official. Lady Inzera did not approve, but her sister was adamant. I do dearly wish that Thezeren had been elected as Matriarch instead of Inzera. She was a wonderful woman, once you got past the prickly exterior.”

“Was?” Lizenne asked.

Amatok gave her an apologetic bow. “She died two months ago, my Lady, quietly, and in her sleep. Thezeren was very proud of you for escaping Inzera's clutches when none of the rest of them could. She, too, was a wild heart in her youth.”

Lizenne's brows pinched in sorrow. “I'll miss her. Is Korial all right?”

He nodded. “Korial is currently living at some considerable remove from House Ghurap'Han on one of her husband's properties on Sedira, with her man and their children. She didn't like what her family had become, and swore that she and hers would accept no part of the inevitable comeuppance when it came to claim them.”

“Wise,” Lizenne whispered, her eyes distant. “She always was the smartest of Mother's sisters. And my immediate kin?”

He shrugged. “I am not the one to ask.”

“Good enough.” Lizenne seemed to pull herself together and offered him a smile. “In the meantime, may I make you properly known to the Paladins of Voltron?”

Amatok raised a hand, but his eyes glinted humorously. “Not quite yet. Let me alert those people over there so we can get this over with all at once. Otherwise, they'll be chattering all night. They're overtired, I'm afraid, and the entire Lineage has been biting their nails for weeks waiting for their liberation. Keeping Ghurap'Han from noticing their excitement was exhausting. Give me just a moment.”

A few words was all it took, and the team couldn't help but smile in amusement at the surprised expressions that passed through the group of Galra like a wave. Dozens of curious yellow eyes focused on Keith and the others for a long moment before they approached, Modhri in the center and beaming like a searchlight. “Paladins,” he said gently, “I make you known to my family. Matriarch Lelannis, my mother. My father, Arantin...”

Names flowed past them in a steady stream that they all knew that none of them would be able to remember later without prompting. Nevertheless, Lizenne returned the favor by introducing the team, and Hunk added his own special flourish by inviting them all to dinner.

“I found a slab of atinbuk flank steak hiding at the bottom of the freezer,” he said with a smile. “I was saving it for something special, and it looks like this is it. If I do it up fajita-style with a bunch of sides, there should be enough to go around. I found some lurix fish down there, too, and Ronok gave me his recipe for a really good fish salad.”

Lelannis smiled warmly at Lizenne. “You've been teaching them good manners. Yes, Hunk, allow me to accept your invitation. We were fed aboard the transport ships, but it was soldiers' fare—nutritious but not particularly tasty. Would you like some help in the kitchen?”

“The more, the merrier,” Hunk replied happily, bowing them toward the lifts.

“Good manners?” Allura asked Keith as Modhri's family followed Hunk's lead.

Keith nodded. “The first thing that two newly-allied packs do is eat together, and it's even better if both packs help with the prep. Mom says that it's a tradition that goes right back to the Stone Age, or maybe further.”

Shiro humphed thoughtfully. “And by doing that right off, we acknowledge their status as an independent House, right?”

Keith gave him a thumbs-up. “Good call. After ten thousand years of being someone else's property, that's sort of important. Let's go see if we can get Hunk to make another morlaberry cake.”

It was very, very late, so late that it was early, and cake had happened. Despite the large and delicious meal, Kevaah was full of nervous energy. That was his brain's fault; his body would have loved to lie down and sleep, but his mind was a mad whirl of conflicting emotions, unhappy memories, cold facts, and old truths that had been recently revealed to be lies, and so he was forced to take his protesting body on a long walk around the Castle. He had not expected to be invited to that meal. That event was a matter for Matriarchs, their men, and those who stood highest in status, not for wayward adoptive nephews of deeply irregular origin. Nevertheless, his new siblings had called upon him to attend, and attend he had, despite Erantha's dark looks from across the table. It had been a baffling experience for him. His Matriarch's man was a favored son of the Matriarch of the visiting House, and like that favored son had done, they had accepted him immediately and with affection. Oh, there had been some curious looks cast his way, of course—his coloring was very unusual, to say nothing of his eyes—but they had been genuinely polite all through the meal. Two of them, one of Modhri's nephews and his niece, had even flirted with him, very gently; for some reason, that had made Erantha glare at him even more darkly. It would have been only a matter of time before someone would have said something incendiary, but cake had happened. Such was the virtue of Hunk's morlaberry cake that no bad thing could approach it, and unworthy dialogue cringed in shame and went back to wherever it had come from before ever it was voiced.

The guests had thanked the hosts most properly after that, and had gone to their rooms to rest. Kevaah had helped with the cleanup, of course, that being part of his duties to his adoptive House, but had been unable to find peace on the red couch afterward. Worry nagged at him, and confusion. He had been accepted immediately, but they did not yet know what he was. The visitors had come with cubs, many of them very young. Would they allow something like him near their precious children, or would they banish him to the outlying regions of the Castle? Could he trust himself around cubs? He had no experience with children, other than his own brothers... and, regrettably, certain portions of the early battle training that the Ghamparva had given him. The Blade had given him other techniques to control the triggers that those monsters had set into him, but the damage had been done. His self-control was perfect, he knew it was perfect, but there was so much at stake, and he simply did not know how he would react if a cub surprised him. He could smell the soft scent of cubs on the newcomers, and it stirred things in him that he couldn't quantify, much less name. His instincts were powerful, he knew that much, but so were both sets of his training. If either won out, there was a chance that he might wind up killing someone, and that would certainly have horrific consequences.

“I am not designed for this,” he whispered into the empty air of the sleeping Castle, and continued relentlessly onward.

As always, he gravitated toward the training deck. It was quite a good training deck, with all sorts of interesting systems and was capable of generating drones suitable for a decent workout, particularly when he turned them up to full speed. Perhaps if he came here whenever he felt his triggers starting to twitch... he snorted sourly. If that were the case, he might have to take up residence in the dragon's den until the visitors left. The dragons would certainly come to visit now and again, and he found their presence soothing.

He stepped into the biggest room, hoping for a good match with a gladiator drone, and found that someone had beaten him to it; he could not help but to recoil slightly from the massive shared aura that hovered around the intruder. He also could not help but to stare. The Hoshinthra that Pidge had brought back from Poboion was dancing, or at least, that was what it looked like. It was definitely moving to a beat that only it could hear, each step and turn executed with total control, its six arms gesturing in formulaic precision, its neck and tail moving in perfect balance. He blinked, and then took a harder look at the fluid motions. That was not a dance. It was an exercise routine for a creature that was much like him in some ways, having been designed and bred specifically for a life of combat and mayhem. Kevaah could see by its aura that the Hoshinthra Scientists were far more skilled at such design than the Ghamparva were, and could not help but feel envy for the Warrior's peace and certainty of its purpose.

And its perceptive ability. He could see that the creature knew he was there, and more, that its mother knew. Kevaah saw the change in its aura immediately—the Warrior's own personal aura was comparatively light and uncomplicated, but it filled with deep and nameless colors and strange, complex patterns as the Warleader infused the physical envelope with her presence. That the body did not so much as miss a step during the process was testament to her skill.

“ _I greet you, perceptive one,”_ she hissed through her son's jaws, turning its antennae to face him. _“Do you like what you see?”_

With this strange alien, Kevaah could only be honest. “I can admire it, even if I do not like it. Your creators are superior to mine.”

The Warleader reared up to stand on her son's hind legs, prancing as lightly as thrittle fluff in a body that weighed more than a ton. _“Our people are older than yours, and have different values and goals. If your people survive what is coming, there is a chance that they will achieve a greater level of skill, in time.”_

Kevaah nodded, knowing that the future of the Empire was uncertain. Asking the Warleader for hints would get him no clear answers. “My Matriarch has plans, and... support.”

“ _To a purpose,”_ the Warleader agreed, coming down so lightly that the forehooves barely clicked when they touched the floor. _“It is remarkable, and necessary, and every act and thought brings the conclusion of this drama closer. Symmetry demands that certain great events must happen, but those are brief, and once done, what then?”_

Kevaah thought about that for a long moment. “She plans to settle, and to raise a family.”

“ _Yessssss...”_ the Warleader hissed, clacking long jaws, although without passion; it was simply another part of the exercise. _“That is also to a purpose, but it is one that is in the hands of the Elders, and is none of our business. You will be a part of that business as well. What you are feeling now is also a part of that.”_

“All things are a part of the next things,” Kevaah replied, fighting down his surprise and striving for clarity. How did he feel now?

“I am afraid of myself,” he told the Warleader. “I was not intended for what my Pack needs me to be.”

Invisibility rippled over the Warrior's body in waves, like the reflections in a broken mirror. _“All things may be used for purposes other than what they were intended for; whether they flow or break is up to them. My son undergoes this test as well even now, and through him, me. Through me, all. The Bold One is the test, and we are proud of our ability to flow.”_

“My self-fear is the test,” Kevaah said in a whisper. “Will I... _can_ I flow?”

The luminous green symbiotes detached from the Warrior's flanks to fly in exact formation around their host. _“The potential exists. Your instincts are very powerful, we perceive that, but all instincts have a reason; these reasons must be subject to the will, or one is nothing more than a construct.”_

“I have been a construct.” Kevaah shifted as unwelcome memories surfaced. “I am not one now.”

“ _And, therefore, you possess potential.”_ Green insectoids whirled, doubling back on their tails, seeking their homes on the Warrior's flanks. _“It is not a question of strength. It is a question of wits, and the ability to change. You have already proven yourself once.”_

Kevaah felt himself able to smile, and relaxed a little. “This is for practice, then. I will not ask what I am practicing for. Instead, I will ask that you indulge me in a minor impertinence.”

“ _Speak,”_ the Warleader said, sounding interested.

“I would spar with your son.” Kevaah slid his knife out of its sheath. “First check only, and only the lightest of touches. I will be needed whole, and so will he.”

“ _Granted,”_ the Warleader replied, tossing her son's head gaily, and withdrew her awareness from its body.

Erantha had also found it difficult to sleep, which annoyed her. Her training allowed her to organize her rest, to get an entire night's worth of downtime in a handful of hours, but something in the air was disrupting that. No, she thought irritably, it was the psychic feel of the Castle. Its rooms were full for the first time in ten thousand years, and the change was subtle but dramatic. Erantha had never liked crowds all that much, and to suddenly have so many strangers on board was unsettling. Her nerves hummed and her blood sizzled with the need to find a high place, a place where she could observe and adapt to such a change. Not the bridge, she thought; Coran was on night watch tonight and the man could not resist the urge to prattle. He could be quite amusing, but she wasn't in the mood. Her steps turned automatically in the direction of the training deck, which at least had things in it that she could hit.

Erantha examined that thought for a moment, grimaced in exasperation, and resolved to ask Lizenne for a run in the envirodeck at the first opportunity. Parts of her were crying out for the fresh air and sunlight, the smell of sweet grass and good forage, and the prospect of another hunt. That first nighttime chase had awakened things within her that she had not even known were there, and she dearly wanted to experience them again. _I wonder,_ she thought quietly, _what it might be like to hunt as part of a full Pack?_

She did not know. Ever since the terrible event that had brought her into the Blade of Marmora as a new recruit, she had shunned working with any group larger than four or five individuals, and had much preferred acting as a lone agent. The Paladins seemed to sense that in her and gave her plenty of space, which she appreciated, and her fellow Blades only rarely insisted that she join a larger mission. Kolivan was perfectly willing to let her stay right where she was for the time being, since Zaianne had shown some large and obvious divisions in her loyalties. Kolivan was willing to accommodate that, too; her attachment to the Paladins was vital to the Order, but he needed someone here who was a bit more detached to keep an eye on things. The Paladins were of great use to the cause, but they were wildly chaotic, incredibly unpredictable, and could bring an unbelievable amount of power to bear where necessary—indeed, they often surprised themselves. How far did their abilities go, and how wide were those skill sets? How deep were the wells of aetheric power that the Lions could draw from? No one knew, not even the ones who had built them, and that mystery fascinated the Order's scientists. After all, the current team would have to retire someday, and the more that the Order knew about Voltron, the better.

She was halfway down the hall from the invisible-maze room when she heard the sounds of combat. Not known combat, either—she could recognize the sharp sounds of non-Galra feet on the decking, sharp clacks that did not sound like the dragons. Also, she heard the thud and stamp of bootsoles; perhaps Bantax was having a sparring match with a couple of the gladiator drones?

A peek through the doorway made her stare. Not Bantax, but Kevaah... and the _Hoshinthra?_

A moment later, she realized that they were playing.

The Warrior was prancing like a dressage-trained riding beast, arms spread out like a dancer's, its head held high in a serpent's striking-posture and its jaws open in a fashion that suggested enjoyment rather than menace. The impression of excitement was made even more evident in the way that it was flashing in and out of visibility like the image from a faulty holoprojector, and its antennae were fanned out to their fullest extent and glittering darkly.

Kevaah danced with it, no less graceful than it was, face showing his battle-joy, the back of his shirt showing a dark streak of honest sweat, staying just out of reach of those lethal teeth and claws. His blade flickered like lightning in quick jabs and slashes that almost, but not quite, touched upon the mirrored scales. It lunged forward suddenly, forehooves smashing against the floorplates, jaws snapping, arms flailing, tail lashing around in startling whip-cracks. Kevaah drifted out of the way of that storm of instant death, and responded with one of his own. Feinting to one side and dashing to the other, he jabbed dangerously at joints and sinews, coming within fractions of an inch of crippling several limbs in one beautifully-coordinated rush, forcing the Hoshinthra into a defensive position. The Warrior then executed an impossible sideways leap, pivoted on its forehooves, and kicked out with the rear ones. What followed that was almost a blur of conflicting actions, but the end sequence was plain enough: the Warrior caught Kevaah's knife hand in one of its own, the other eleven hands bringing their claws to bear. Almost simultaneously, Kevaah dropped his blade, caught it in his left hand and thrust upwards toward the underside of the Warrior's jaw... and stopped. The Warrior was in a position to tear Kevaah's torso apart. Kevaah was in a position to slice open the Warrior's throat. They held that tableau for a long, humming moment, and then they let each other go.

The Hoshinthra clacked its jaws and hissed, _“That was an interesting match. You are very fast, Galra Kevaah.”_

“I try,” Kevaah said modestly, “and you are no mean opponent, yourself. I would like to do this again, another time.”

“ _It would be most interesting to do this again, yes,”_ the Warrior conceded. _“You are tired now, and must rest. Perhaps Galra Erantha wishes to spar?”_

Kevaah looked around, and Erantha finally learned why Kevaah upset her so. His face, so animated a moment before, went bland to the point of expressionlessness, and the orange-gold eyes skimmed over her without stopping. Dismissing her as “other”, without interest to him, and thus without worth. It was the single most insulting look that she had ever been given in her life, and it filled her with righteous rage.

“Of course,” he said in a colorless tone that was nearly a killing offense in and of itself—as if she were a cardboard cutout, rather than a person. “One should always get as wide a sampling as possible. She has great energy. I will leave the two of you to amuse each other.”

Erantha couldn't quite hold back her gasp of outrage, and by the time that she'd gotten control of herself again, he was out of the room and gone. The Hoshinthra sagged down onto its haunches, its antennae drooping in a way that made it seem almost comically contrite. _“You are suddenly very angry, Galra Erantha. Why is this?”_

“Him!” she snapped, unable to articulate her feelings properly. “He sees me as unworthy! How _dare_ he?”

The Warrior cocked its head to one side, radiating bafflement, and might have asked another question, but a new voice answered before it could. “Not unworthy. Merely unattainable.”

Erantha whirled and jumped back in surprise, suddenly angry at herself as well as with Kevaah for allowing anyone, even Zaianne, to approach her unnoticed. Totally unruffled, the older woman stepped into the room, nodding politely to the Warrior before casting an amused glance at Erantha. “Why should you care, girl, if he looks at you in such a way? You don't want him—you've made that very clear ever since he came aboard. He's a pragmatic fellow. Why should he lust after what he cannot have?”

“ _This person does not understand,”_ the Hoshinthra hissed sadly while Erantha struggled for words.

Zaianne smirked; she had seen how Erantha had been treating Kevaah, and didn't approve. This little development struck her as hilarious, but potentially beneficial, and it needed a nudge in just the right place. “It has to do with something that your own people may have abandoned long ago. Galra women are proud, and statistically rare—only one woman per ten men, on average. We are used to being yearned after and treated like the treasures we are. Kevaah is an anomalous male among a people who do not like anomalies; he knows that he has little chance of gaining her approval, and so does not bother to make the effort.”

“His brothers do not share that attitude,” Erantha growled.

Zaianne snorted. “He is not his brothers. If you want to see your greatness reflected in his eyes, girl, you're going to have to shine a bit brighter. Respect must be earned from a heart that wild. He has issued you this challenge—will you scorn it?”

Erantha drew herself up to her full and impressive height, her temper turning comfortably icy, rather than hot. How dare that vat-born creature unsettle her so! “I have not turned down a challenge even once in my life.”

Zaianne had to fight down a laugh. “Then allow me to offer a suggestion that may aid your plan of attack. Sometime in the next week or so, Lizenne intends to take the lot of us into the envirodeck for a bit of fresh air. He has never hunted edible game before.”

Erantha lifted her chin proudly and replied in a cool tone, “I will take your suggestion under consideration,” and then stalked stiffly out of the room.

“ _This person still does not understand,”_ the Warrior hissed mournfully.

Zaianne chuckled. “It's a form of courting behavior, and a way of testing the fitness of a potential mate. While it is rare for a woman to pursue a man, rather than the other way around, it's not unheard of. Indeed, that proud young lady isn't even aware that she's doing it. The coming days are going to be very interesting.”

The Galra were not the only ones who waked and walked that night, and one did so in an unusual direction. It was well-known that lurix fish enhanced latent precognitive abilities in those who had a touch of seer's blood in them, generally resulting in some very strange dreams. Shiro, on the other hand, was a full-blown Oracle, and he had found the flavor and texture of Hunk's fish salad to be very much to his taste. As a result, Time itself had opened its gates to him once he was in bed and soundly asleep, and the currents of causality formed a road for his feet.

Shiro walked that golden road, unaware of where he had come from and unsure of where he was going. Not that it mattered. He was dreaming and knew that he dreamed, having had expected it. Visions were nothing new to him now, and this one wasn't threatening... thus far, anyway.

After a time, he noticed something a little odd. Every other time that he had walked this road, the stars had glimmered in distant splendor, indifferent to his passing. They were changing now, all around him, subtly shifting position in their constellations and drifting past him as if every step he took crossed unguessable distances. Finally, he lifted a foot from the golden road, and, as he took that last stride, the perspective changed. The stars swung about until they hung overhead, and his foot landed with a soft crunch upon packed sand.

Shiro paused, staring up at a landscape lit by two moons. Mountains jutted proudly into the sky, and he smelled the dry, cold, somehow ancient aroma of a desert midnight. Sun-baked stone and sand were releasing their heat into chill and moistureless air, tinted with the faintly acrid scent of something like cactus, spiced further with night-blooming flowers. Above him, the stars blazed in that awesome display that can only be seen above a desert, the crystal-clear air free of any obstructions and making those celestial lights seem near enough to touch.

Turning, he saw on a cliff above him something that looked like a large habitation—half Viking longhouse and half medieval palace, barred with golden light and walls gleaming darkly in the moonslight. Beyond that edifice loomed the five pale spires of the Castle of Lions, and he wondered why that ship would be here. They had been nowhere near any habitable planets, desert or otherwise. Curious, he turned onto a broad, paved path that led up to both buildings, and had only gone a few steps when a dark shape sifted itself out of the night.

“Who is there?” a deep voice asked, making Shiro catch his breath; the voice was familiar, and yet unfamiliar, and when a handlight clicked on, he couldn't help but stare.

The Galra who stood before him was very tall and powerfully-built, the leathery skin and saurian features revealing him to be Golrazi. Not just any Golrazi, at that. For a moment, Shiro thought that he might be Kelezar, dressed up to look like his grandfather; there was an animation in that face and a healthy color in those yellow eyes that the Emperor lacked. But no, this man was shorter than the half-Korbexan giant, and he carried himself with an unconscious pride that the younger man did not possess. This _was_ Zarkon, but as he had been in the distant past, perhaps no older than Shiro himself.

“Zarkon?” he breathed, not quite able to believe it.

“The same,” Zarkon said, studying him with interest. _“Prince_ Zarkon, if you will. Who are you? I feel that I should know you for some reason, but I've never seen you before. Are you one of Grandfather's guests?”

Shiro glanced up at the Castle again, cold and distant as the neighboring mountain peaks. This was Zarkon as he had been ten thousand years ago, on a planet that no longer existed. Still young, still a hero, still untouched by the evil that had claimed him. Shiro could not bring himself to lie to this young man, who knew nothing of what he would one day become.

“No,” he said quietly, “I'm an Oracle, and I'm having a Vision.”

Zarkon smiled. Not a grim smile, not a cruel one, but a sympathetic one that looked strange on those angular but not yet scarred or time-etched features. “I have those too, now and again. Perhaps... yes, I'm having one right now, I think. There--” he pointed up at the sky, indicating a certain feature in the heavens. “See there, that line of multicolored lights? A new one is added whenever a King's son has been confirmed as Crown Prince. Grandfather and Father are having trouble making up their minds between me and one of my brothers, and so there should only be thirty-six satellites. There are thirty-seven up there, as you can see, and had that last one been my brother's, it would be golden. Regardless of their present indecision, it is purple—I will one day rule.”

Shiro nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Zarkon didn't seem to notice. “That's going to be awkward,” the Galra muttered softly, half to himself. “Well, perhaps it will work itself out. Father will be an able King, and by the time that he is too old to reign, Voltron will have knocked it into everyone's heads that constant warfare is inappropriate behavior. Even Alfor is starting to lose his temper with some of those idiots.”

Shiro managed a smile. “It's a big job, piloting a Lion.”

Zarkon grunted a laugh. “You say that as if you knew the whole truth of it. Walk with me, friend. I am lonely tonight for some reason.”

Shiro fell in beside him, and they made their way down into what seemed to be a formal garden, where low, sculpted walls supported large and fearsome cactus-like growths that bloomed with fragrant, luminous flowers. Zarkon breathed deeply of the spicy scent, and smiled again. “You must be very strong, Oracle. My own Visions have never been powerful enough to include scents, or even color at times. This one is very clear.”

Shiro reflected upon the gifts that Tzairona and Zerod had given him, and nodded. “Fairly strong. It's not always helpful.”

Zarkon barked a cynical laugh. “Truth! You would think that twenty years of flying the Lion of Time would improve clarity, but no. I've always felt that I was a little blind in that direction, practically from the first time I laid hands on its control beams. Alfor's ridiculous sidekick tells me that the gift varies in strength, along with a great deal of blather about the talents or lack thereof in the previous teams. Bah. I'll have the secret of it out of the Lion eventually, along with all the rest. We're going to need it, and the Lion knows it.”

Shiro looked up sharply at the young royal. “Are things really that bad?”

Zarkon bared his teeth. “You must be from somewhere remote to ask me that. The whole galactic region has been a disaster area since my Grandfather's youth, and it's only gotten worse. Where are you from? You look like an Altean, or almost, but you aren't one.”

“Japan,” Shiro replied truthfully, “and we and the Alteans are very different in a lot of ways. We've only recently achieved starflight, to tell you the truth.”

“And you hope to gain the protection of a more powerful entity,” Zarkon mused. “A sensible choice, for all that our own position is not all that secure. The Council of Galran Prime presumes to rule even the Sovereign Colonies, and Grandfather will not have it.”

 _Oh, god,_ Shiro thought. “I've heard about that. I'd keep an eye on them if I were you. Sooner or later, they're going to do something that's going to get everybody in serious trouble.”

Zarkon growled angrily. “It doesn't take an Oracle to know that. Those petty, inbred princelings scheme and plot against each other while the Empire crumbles around them. Modhri the Wise would disown the lot of them, were he alive today! A strong hand is needed to bring them all to heel, and to punish the Carlumnians properly for their crimes. Grandfather is seeking to get enough support to put us in a position where we may bring stability back to the Empire, but it is not an easy task.”

Zarkon scowled, and Shiro saw the worry under the belligerent expression. “It never is, although I've heard that he's trying to arrange something with the Simadhi royals. And something about an Altean Alchemist?”

Zarkon gave him a sharp look, but smiled thinly. “Rumor flies, doesn't it, no matter how much effort is taken to clip its wings. Yes, Grandfather is negotiating for a marriage alliance for me. They say that the woman is beautiful, and a strong witch. Simadht is wealthy, and it is powerful, and its people hide their true strength down in those caverns of theirs.” He shuddered. “Dank, clammy caverns full of blind and creeping things, closed away from the sun. I do not want a wife from Simadht, however beautiful she may be. My heart is already given. Have you heard of Haggar, friend, who is more beautiful than any of those cave-dwellers?”

Shiro nodded cautiously. “I have. She's said to be very skilled, and knows many secrets. Didn't she help win the Sisterhood War?”

A bark of laughter split the night air. “Help! She practically won it herself, according to some. Zaianne and her Circle had the power, but not the genius. It was Haggar who directed that force, Haggar who found the one who could focus it, Haggar who saw those two _bitras_ dead at her feet! The Queen should have inducted her into her Circle, to learn all the secrets of _Tahe Moq_ and become recognized among the truly great, but that honor was not to be granted to an Altean. Bah. _I_ recognize her for how great she truly is, even if the High Houses will not. And she loves me.”

Shiro's heart nearly broke to see the awe and joy on the young Prince's face. Had Haggar ever truly been able to love, once? It seemed impossible to him, who had twice been at her mercy, and he glanced up at the palace on the clifftop again. “Congratulations,” he managed. “How did you two get together? It must have been the romance of the century.”

“By chance. All the best discoveries happen by chance, you know.” Zarkon sighed nostalgically. “She came home to Altea to study the newest developments in aetheric science, and was greeted as a returning hero there, at least. Alteans are long-lived, but few Alchemists are strong enough to maintain their youth into their two hundredth decaphebe. They brought her in to have a look at the Lions, which had exceeded their builders' expectations to the point where even they did not know the full capabilities of Voltron. I had only been Black Paladin for nine years at the time, and her very presence struck me like a thunderbolt. Have you ever seen her, man?”

Shiro nodded slowly. “Yes, but never at her best. The images don't do her justice.”

“Truth! No imager could.” Zarkon grinned proudly. “Smaller than a Galra woman, and slight, skin like finest seirtha ivory, hair of polished steel, eyes like pale amber. A grace that no dancer could match, and a smile whose sweetness is mine, and mine alone. A perfect mind and heart for the higher sciences as well, and her years weigh no more heavily upon her than a shawl of the finest lace.” He heaved a long sigh, and his expression darkened. “Melenor doesn't like her, though. Nor do my mother and grandmother.”

Shiro wasn't surprised. He knew very little about Allura's mother and nothing at all about Zarkon's relatives, but strong women had ways of picking up little clues about each other that many men lacked. “It's political, probably. If you're going to be king one day, you'll have to have heirs. I've heard somewhere that Galra and Alteans can't crossbreed, and you've already said that your world needs strong alliances.”

Zarkon growled irritably, and Shiro saw just a hint of the monster he would become. “We're working on that. If we cannot find a way, well, my father has other sons. So does my Grandfather. It need not be me who forges those alliances.”

“But you want to be King,” Shiro observed.

There was a dangerous pause, and then a snort of amusement as the tall Golrazi deflated. “Yes. You see my dilemma, don't you? I am Prince, Paladin, hero, beloved of one woman and potentially betrothed to another, destined to rule... or not. Hah. Oracle or no, you are an expert diplomat. You have let me spill out my secrets into your ears, and have told me next to nothing about yourself.”

Shiro shrugged and looked away. “There's not all that much to say. I've served in my planet's military, done some space exploration, solved some problems, and got dragged into diplomacy mostly by accident. The Visions aren't all that reliable.”

Zarkon chuckled. “And again, you evade me neatly. I will assume that there might be a reason for that. What end of time do you come from, then? Am I your future, your past, or your present?”

 _All three,_ Shiro thought glumly. “Past, I think, and a long time past, at that. You're the one looking ahead, and... I guess that we sort of matched up.”

Zarkon made an interested sound and stared at him with fascinated golden eyes. Golden. Not the pale, purple-tinted, dead-seeming eyes that had held nothing but cold contempt. _Ah, god, what did Haggar do to this man? He's a little stiff, a little proud, a little self-centered, but he isn't evil. We could have been friends, once upon a time._

“Interesting. Grandmother once told me that this sort of thing was possible, albeit very, very rare,” Zarkon mused. “Do they still remember me in your time, I wonder? Was I a good King, or did I spend the rest of my days putting out fires with Alfor and the others?”

Shiro went cold inside, and shook his head. “I'm not sure that I should tell you.”

Zarkon scowled dangerously at him. “What difference will it make? If you're as far ahead of me as you think you are, what will it matter if I know? I can summon the Lion if I so choose. It will know.”

Shiro lifted his eyes to the Castle again, and accepted the inevitable; he could feel, as if from a great distance, the long-ago mind of the black Lion, and tasted its surprise at his presence here and now. “All right, but you're not going to like it.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” Zarkon said shortly. “Will I be deposed, I wonder, or betrayed? Will I die nobly, defending some planet or other from an ambitious aggressor, or are you from so far ahead that no one remembers me at all?”

Shiro winced and stepped away a few paces to lean against a carved stone stela. “No. You'll become Emperor. No one will ever forget you.”

That took Zarkon aback. _“Emperor?_ That is not possible. There is no way that the Council will choose me to fill that empty Throne, nor does Grandfather have a big enough military presence to force the issue.”

“You're not going to give them a choice.” Shiro shuddered. “Not if you keep following the path that you're on right now. You'll be the absolute ruler of the largest realm in known history, and for longer than anyone has a right to expect, but you aren't going to enjoy it.”

Zarkon blinked. “Will Haggar be with me?”

“She will.”

“Then I will enjoy it. My happiness is complete when she is near me.”

“Zarkon, she's going to be a major part of the problem,” Shiro snapped, startling the Prince. “She's studying Quintessence right now, isn't she?”

Zarkon's own eyes strayed toward the palace. “She is. It is a great secret, gleaned from Queen Zaianne herself. It could solve all of our energy problems forever.”

“No, it won't. I'm sorry, but it won't.” Shiro pushed away from the stone and took a couple of steps forward, suddenly furious at this besotted young man. “It's only going to make things worse. Sooner or later, she's going to do something that will corrupt you both. We don't know what that is, precisely. Black tried to tell me once, but it wasn't too clear, and it hurts him even to think about it. You'll take the throne and the Empire, all right, and you'll expand its borders to include several galaxies, and you'll still be on that throne ten thousand years later! You're going to be an iron-fisted tyrant, Zarkon, and Haggar will be your keeper; every world you take will have only one real purpose—to supply you both with more Quintessence. It will _own_ you, Zarkon, and Haggar will own you through it. Voltron will no longer be yours to command, either. When I come from, _I_ am the black Paladin, and we will be fighting you.”

Zarkon was staring at him now, unsure whether to be fearful or furious. Unfortunately, anger won out. “You lie, apparition. What you suggest is preposterous. No one lives for ten thousand years, and _no one_ owns me.”

“Not yet, no.” Shiro shook his head and turned away. “Send Haggar away, Zarkon. Marry the Simadhi princess and get some real help for your grandfather. Be a hero for a little while longer, then pass the bayard and the Lion on to the best cadet for him, then settle down and have a whole crowd of children. Go out peacefully while you have the chance, or you'll lose everything that made life worth living, and whole worlds will die for your and Haggar's greed.”

“No!” Zarkon barked disbelievingly, “That is not--”

He stopped short, the words choking off in his throat as a hot, bitter wind blew past them. The night sky itself had cracked across like a glass globe struck with a hammer, and the ripping crackle echoed hollowly throughout the cosmos—an ion bolt, coming down from a warship in near orbit, to blast the earth not so far away. The huge pseudo-cacti creaked and groaned as they swayed to the forces of the earthquake the bolt had caused, and rocks broke away from the cliff and fell. Zarkon let out a cry of anguish and terror as the Castle lifted off without him, and the palace on the cliff, its foundations shattered, tumbled into the abyss. The sky filled with fires descending, that smashed into the distant mountains and broke them into pieces. A storm of flame roared up in the desert as the sands themselves began to burn, and great cracks split the earth apart. Magma spurted up from below in skyscraper-tall fountains, and the world itself screamed deafeningly as its lifeblood poured out. The damage wasn't limited to the landscape, either; over the young prince, a second figure was superimposed, and one that Shiro knew well. The Zarkon of Shiro's present had sensed that his past self was being meddled with, and sheer fury had given him the strength to force a path back through his own history, heedless as always of the damage that he was causing.

“ _You!”_ he raged, sparks streaming from pale eyes, his shape limned with purple fire. “You dare, Champion?”

“Always,” Shiro said with more sorrow than anger, and replied with a truth that went deeper than his own understanding. “Someone has to.”

He could see what the corruption had done to this once-great man, and it pained him. Zarkon was nothing more than a hollow shell inhabited by something recognizable only in that it was dark and cold. What stood before him now, wearing a face that didn't belong to it, using a body that had been artificially-preserved for so long that it was beginning to crumble in spots, thinking with a psyche that was two shaky steps away from dissolving into total madness, was a thing more alien than any extraterrestrial could ever be. Shiro's very being flinched away from it, and its proximity sickened him. The earth underfoot shuddered and tilted suddenly, as if tipped up by a titanic weight, and he looked up and around in alarm. Something was blotting out the sky now, something dark and all-encompassing, but Shiro felt no fear at seeing it. He knew this darkness, had met with it before, and it was no threat to him.

The thing that inhabited Zarkon, however, let out an ungalran shriek of rage and fear and bottomless hunger, drawing the fires of the burning world around it and...

Shiro's stomach lurched in revulsion. What had been Zarkon was changing shape, and the shapes it took on were ancient and horrible, and expanding grotesquely to meet its rival. All of the very worst features of life and death were combined in those shapes and then amplified out of all proportion, twisted and malformed, and it rose higher and higher, crushing the doomed world beneath it, drawing the energies out of it until even the magma grayed out and froze.

A stumbling shape broke out of that pillar of seething chaos, a sculpture formed of ash that dissolved a little more with every step it took. Zarkon, Shiro realized, what little was left of the true man, desperate and dying. An ashy hand reached for Shiro's hand and caught it, two fingers powdering away when he tried to grip it. _“Help me,”_ the ruined prince begged in a broken wisp of a voice. _“Stop me.”_

Overcome with pity, Shiro nodded. “I will.”

The Zarkon-that-was had time to give him a grateful look before the entire world came apart around them, knocking the prince into a puff of ash and hurling Shiro away. He had one brief glimpse of a desert world sundered apart, its core spilling out into space as the crust and mantle came apart around it. High above and made tiny by distance, the multicolored shape of Voltron could be seen flying away through a field of shattered starships. The planet and everyone on it was beyond help, then and now.

When Shiro woke, he did so chilled, trembling, and soaked with sweat, his face wet with tears and his palm coated with something pale and powdery that sublimated into nothing even as he watched.


	2. Appreciation For The Arts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Just a quick note, when we first posted the last chapter, we accidentally left out the last sentence. We fixed it fairly quickly, but it may be a good idea to just go back and check the end of the first chapter in case you read it before we'd fixed our mistake.

Chapter 2: Appreciation for the Arts

Millions of miles away, Subaltern Kerraz stood with his back pressed to the wall, trying to get his heartbeat under control and his knees to stop shaking. His superiors had gotten into the habit of having him run their errands for them, and General Pendrash allowed it because it let him keep an eye on their activities. Kerraz didn't really mind, for all that it meant that he was up and about at all hours, and he'd taken the opportunity to explore the little-used back ways of the Center. They were certainly very useful for getting from one department to another in quick-time, and he'd found several handy, still-functional freight elevators and emergency lifts that had been abandoned and forgotten centuries ago. The graffiti of ancient technicians still marked the walls in odd corners, and some of them were very interesting; Kerraz found it fascinating to see how the language had changed over the past ten millennia, and how certain words hadn't. Most of those were expletives, of course. Insults never went out of style.

Unfortunately, a number of the deeper passages came very close to the Emperor's private quarters. Ordinarily, this wasn't a problem. The Emperor didn't sleep all that much, but when he did sleep, he slept deeply. It was just Kerraz's bad luck that he happened to be trotting through one such passage when his sovereign came out of his slumber screaming in lunatic rage. That wrathful howl froze Kerraz in his tracks, heart hammering, and his ears not quite able to believe what they were hearing. The screams that followed that first one did not sound like they could have come from a Galran throat; not even the things in Haggar's lab could scream like that. There was something ancient and unthinking in it—if a black hole could have a total personality failure of a temper tantrum, then that was what it would sound like.

In the background, he heard the rasping voices of a couple of Druids raised in alarm, and a minute or two later, Haggar's. Kerraz fled while he had the chance. It usually took a hefty dose of Quintessence to ease the Emperor's little irregularities these days, and if she found Kerraz here...

He would go straight to Pendrash and tell him of this. He had to. The Emperor's condition was getting even worse, and chaos awaited his collapse.

That fact was not far from Haggar's mind either, and it nagged at her as she soothed her lord's rage. She ignored it for the time being, focusing upon what had caused this upset. Zarkon did not dream; she'd seen to that herself, ages ago, when some rebel alien or other had tried to kill him that way, with a psychic strike that she had foiled with ease. The attacker had been left witless and brain-burned, and Haggar had set up protections around her lord that had disallowed that weakness in his defenses ever since. As the fires of his visions faded, she found something that surprised her very much. There _had_ been an attack, but from within—and Zarkon himself had been the aggressor. Something, somewhere deep in his memories had thrown him into a violent fury, leaving a burn at the bottom of his mind. Just a small one, and it hadn't hit anything vital; all that had been lost was a single, long-forgotten memory, but there was a faint scent of something down there that made her own heart beat just a little faster. _What is that,_ she thought, hunting after that tiny trace, _and where did it come from?_

A search for traces of the anomaly's aura came up empty, for the burn had left no other trace but its own presence. The scent, though—a little smoky, sharp, and faintly sweet—that had a familiarity to it that she could not quite place. It made her think of candles, of all things, real wax candles of a sort that hadn't been in common use since well before Galra had discovered spaceflight. Temple candles, she remembered, handmade by the priests themselves, carved and shaped into beautiful, ephemeral sculptures, the wax infused with rare, fragrant oils and incense before dipping so that they would perfume the images of the gods as they burned. That was absurd. Zarkon's mother had been a priestess, but Zarkon himself had no interest in religion, and had spent no longer in any temple on any planet at all than it took to exterminate whatever cult of demon-worshipers that he and the other Paladins had been flushing out at the time. He had spent even less time in them in the early years of his reign, before the Galran Priest-Lineages had rebelled against his rule, and he had destroyed them along with their temples.

She might have thought to look deeper, but Zarkon's pale eyes opened, showing pain and confusion. “Haggar,” he breathed in a voice made hoarse from howling. “I dreamed... but I do not know what I have dreamed. There was fire, and... and something swallowed me.”

“It has not,” she replied, although the candle-scent lingered in her mind, making her uneasy. “You are awake now, and safe.”

He frowned, and caught hold of her hand. “Something is wrong. In that dream I saw... I saw myself, but it was not myself, and... someone else was there. I knew that one—no, there were two. There were two of them, and I hated them both more than I could have thought possible. Hated them and feared them. I do not fear anything, Haggar.”

“Nor do you need to,” she said, reaching for a canister of Quintessence that stood near to hand, summoning the energies within and funneling them into the Emperor. She did not like the vulnerability that she heard in his voice. An Emperor should not be vulnerable at all. “Who were they?”

“I can't remember,” Zarkon said, his voice growing stronger as the dose took effect, and more irritated. “I only know that I knew them of old, and that I hated and feared them. _I do not fear anything, or anyone.”_

“That's right,” Haggar said, watching his recovery with a critical eye.

“No one can stop me,” he growled, dropping her hand and pushing himself upright. “No one owns me.”

Haggar shot him a sharp look; where had that last denial come from?

Zarkon rubbed absently at his right shoulder. “No one will forget me.”

That was even more unusual, and worrying. She reached out to him with one hand, but he stood up without a backward glance. “I _will_ have the Lion,” he muttered, half to himself. “No one can stand in my way.”

Haggar watched him don his armor and leave in silence, and thought about candles. Deep inside her, deep, deep down in the dark places of her heart, something caught that scent and cried out in fury, in hunger... and in fear.

Having so many people aboard was going to take some getting used to, Shiro thought as he made his way up to the kitchen. The whole ship felt different with so many people in it, and the halls echoed with the busy sounds of people being alive. Footsteps, voices, laughter, the squeals of children. The smell of people, the vibrations of their movements on the decking. He sighed, shivered, and kept going. He'd been used to crowds, once, and would no doubt be used to them again soon. It was just that his dream had left him feeling raw and sensitive inside, and very hungry. Not a dream, dammit, but a Vision. Dreams didn't leave his stomach feeling like an abandoned strip mine.

Something at ankle level went _“aaaaaiiieeeep!”_ and hit his right shin like a ballistic teddy bear, and he felt the prickle of tiny fangs through the tough fabric of his trouser leg. A moment later, another one hit his left leg. Shiro didn't even look down and kept right on walking, his passengers squeaking in excitement the whole way. The kitchen was already humming with activity at this hour, telling him that he'd overslept, but the fragrances issuing forth told him that there was still plenty to go around.

Hunk, at least, was in his element, doing wonderful things with eggs and vegetables while a wide selection of assistants chopped, sauced, and sliced at various stations. At one end of the kitchen table, a young girl with a distinct family resemblance to Modhri crimped dumplings with the care and precision of one learning a new skill. Pidge was also at the table, working her way through a huge omelet, and something under the table was squeaking. A lot of somethings under the table were squeaking, actually, and he felt his two anklebiters detach themselves from his legs to join the mob.

“Be right with you, Shiro,” Hunk shouted over the sizzling of his pan. “I've got seventeen early risers who are eating for... well, ten, on average. Avaris, can you get him some of that cereal? He looks a little pale.”

Shiro thumped down in an empty chair, and a moment later a bowl of fragrant space oatmeal was laid before him, complete with cream, sweetener, and two slices of buttered toast. Shiro accepted the spoon from the Galra woman with a nod of thanks and dug in, his belly rejoicing at the hot, energy-rich food. By the time the bowl was empty, a plate of eggs and sausage had been placed down next to him, along with a small bowl of spotty green fruit and soft white rounds that smelled enticingly of vinegar and herbs. He had just applied himself to his eggs when he felt prickling sensations in both legs again, and a sudden warm weight in his lap; something poked him gently in the navel, and when he looked down, his gaze was met by two pairs of hopeful amber eyes in fluffy purple faces. With a sigh, he cut two small slices of sausage and appeased his guests.

“They're worse than puppies,” Pidge said sympathetically, sitting back and dangling a strip of egg just above her lap; a tiny hand shot up, grabbed it, and yanked it out of sight, and ferocious snarfling noises emitted from just below the table. “At least puppies can be trained to sit and wait for their share. Had a bad night, Shiro?”

Shiro nodded, slipping his passengers another tidbit. “I had a Vision. I'll tell you all about it after breakfast. Is Lizenne around?”

Pidge jerked a thumb in the general direction of the _Chimera._ “She's back on her ship right now. Getting Modhri's folks freed really took it out of her, and I think that there's something political going on, too.”

“It's a question of territory,” the Galra woman—Avaris—said, removing his empty bowl and toast-plate. “She's letting the Princess get used to having us around before forcing her presence upon either her or our own Matriarch, and she feels some guilt for leaving us in her own family's hands for so long. It's baseless, but Lelannis appreciates the courtesy.”

Shiro hummed understandingly and reached for the nearby bowl. Tomato-and-cheese salad, or almost; the green things tasted almost exactly like cherry tomatoes, and the white things— _yum—_ were fresh mozzarella balls. “How is everybody handling it?” he asked.

Avaris shrugged and stole a cheese ball for herself. “As well as can be expected. Most of the children think that this is a grand adventure, of course, although the elders can always find something to complain about. Most importantly, the expecting mothers are comfortable and safe, and all of Elcia's cubs are healthy. We were worried about her.”

“Elcia?” Shiro asked.

“That pregnant lady who Coran had to hustle away in a hurry yesterday,” Hunk said, coming over to cast an eye over the pans of fresh dumplings that the girl had constructed. “Zia here tells me that there were nine of them, eight boys and a girl, live and kicking. These look really good, Zia, I think we've got enough to keep your mom from biting anybody for a while.”

Zia giggled and helped him move the pans to the counter by the stove, and fetched down the wok from a nearby rack. “Lady Inzera was always bothering Momma, and now she can't do that anymore. Momma actually slept all night, and she's really hungry! Show me how to fry these up for her right now!”

Something in the vicinity of Shiro's navel said _“eep”,_ and he passed down another chunk of sausage. “Why was Inzera bothering her?”

Zia sniffed primly. “Momma's really good at her job, and all my older brothers and sisters are, too, and Lady Inzera had big, big plans for all of us cubs, even the new ones! Papa says that Momma was being treated like a prize brood-beast, and that's not nice. _And_ Momma's a really good witch, and so am I, but it's a secret. Momma told me never to show Lady Inzera any spell bigger than lighting a candle, or Lady Inzera would feed me to Haggar. She would, too. That's what happened to Momma's little sister, and she never saw her again.”

Avaris frowned quellingly. “Help the nice man cook, Zia. One doesn't talk of ugly things in the kitchen, child, they get into the food and give people belly-aches.”

Pidge gave her a narrow look. “You've had to conceal your powers?”

Avaris shuddered. “For generations. Ghurap'Han did not want us producing any witches strong enough to challenge them for our freedom, so any girl of talent has been trained from birth to keep it hidden. There have been mishaps, unfortunately, and with the usual result. Elcia's daughters are very strong, and she would often have terrible nightmares about losing them to Inzera's malice, and those worries weakened her appetite as well. Now, her greatest worry will be coming up with good names for the cubs. That's very important—they are the first of the Line to be born free, and each must be the First to bear their names.”

Shiro remembered what Ronok had said during his first visit to the _Quandary_ , of how the common Simadhi name “Ulaz” had come from a single, highly-honored man. “I see. Have there been any problems?”

Avaris gestured a negative and filched another nugget of cheese. “Nothing that couldn't be resolved quickly. A few mishaps with unfamiliar controls, a little confusion with the Castle's floor plan, and one or two run-ins with the dragons and... that other creature. They would be alarming, if they weren't so comical.”

Shiro smiled wryly and finished off his eggs. “The dragons like children, I know that much. But the Hoshinthra?”

Avaris shook her head in perplexity. “The last I saw of it, the blue Paladin was trying to teach it Art. They're in the main lounge now, making a mess.”

Shiro stared at her, and then shared a baffled look with Pidge. He then divested himself of the two cubs in his lap, passed them his last sausage to keep them quiet, and muttered, “This, I have got to see.”

“You and me both, Shiro,” Pidge said, lifting down her own lap monster.

The lounge was a zoo, complete with screaming monkeys. Tilla and Soluk held pride of place in the middle of the floor, sprawling comfortably while cubs of varying ages clambered all over them, whooping with glee. While the red couch still occupied its proper place near one of the windows, a great many more chairs, couches, and tables had been added to the décor, and all of them were occupied by watchful parents. Currently at the center of attention off to one side was a broad, low table of some sort of coppery-colored wood, where Kevaah, Antler Guy, and at least three dozen small children were learning about popsicle sticks and glue. From the sound of it, this simple pastime was a rare treat for them, although Kevaah and the doom moose were sharing almost identical looks of mild bafflement. Lance, damp towel in hand, was presiding over this group with the proprietary air of a kindergarten teacher with a favorite class, offering advice here and there and breaking up fights where necessary.

“Having fun, Lance?” Pidge asked.

“Oh, heck yeah,” Lance said with a grin, wiping glue out of a little boy's fur. “Can you believe that Lizenne's evil relatives wouldn't let them do this sort of thing? Nope, it was study, study, study the whole time, with hardly any time left over for fun. And these are really creative kids, too—check it out! A few easy guidelines, and they fly with it. I can't wait to try them on origami.”

That was true enough. None of the cubs here had been satisfied with the mere picture frames or simple boxes that Pidge herself had bodged together in her childhood years before she'd moved on to dismantling household appliances to see what made them work. These youngsters had opted for much more complex forms, and one or two of them, built by smugly precocious little girls, were actually impossible. Even Kevaah had constructed an interesting abstract, although Antler Guy seemed to be having some trouble finding a shape that he liked.

“What guidelines were those?” Shiro asked, examining a series of interconnected boxes that would be very useful for storing small tools.

“Simple,” Lance replied, and turned to his class. “Kazan, what's Rule One?”

“No Building Weapons,” a small boy piped up, waving a stick admonishingly.

“Good. Bezar, what's Rule Two?”

Another little boy answered, glaring at a nearby little girl. “No Using The Materials As Weapons.”

“Good. Telise, what's Rule Three?”

The little girl glared right back at Bezar. “No Gluing People To Stuff. Or Stuff To People.”

“Good. Kevaah, Rule Four.”

Kevaah rolled his eyes, but smiled, and placed another stick with exacting precision. “Express Ourselves By Making Beautiful And Useful Things.”

Lance smiled proudly at him. “Good. Tebarc, what's Rule Five?”

“No Eating The Materials,” another small boy said, slightly guiltily.

“Good,” Lance said with another proud smile, “and you're all having fun, right?”

There was a happy chorus of agreement from the table, with the exception of Antler Guy, who was completely out of his depth here.

“ _This person is not certain what the point of this activity is,”_ he said, struggling with sticky fingers. _“This is not an activity designated for the Warrior Class.”_

The cubs giggled, and Lance waved a stern finger at him. “The whole point is to learn how to do something constructive without causing mass panic and mayhem, and to express yourself as an individual.”

The Warrior snorted. _“This person is designed exclusively for causing mass panic and mayhem, and is not precisely an individual, Human Lance.”_

Lance propped his fists on his hips and gave the Hoshinthra a disapproving look. “Cool it, Kssshraoca, and yes, I can tell that it's you in there. He's got his body right here, and there's a mind and a 'him' that goes with it. Hive minds are cool, but there are times when you've just gotta be _you,_ okay? Now back off and let Antler Guy play.”

The Warrior twittered a faint laugh. _“You grow perceptive, Paladin. I leave my son to this occupation now.”_

“His momma is nosy,” one of the boy-cubs said firmly.

Kevaah smiled and handed Antler Guy another handful of sticks. “My goodness, yes. On the other hand, she wants to learn, too, and can only do it through him.”

“How come?” a little girl asked.

Lance wiped a puddle of glue off of the table. “His mother's a warship. A big, bio-technological construct with strange powers and big cannons. That's a little hard to fit into a classroom.”

The children were still pondering the thought of warship classrooms when Keith came in, prompting loud squeals of “Uncle Keef!” from several youngsters, and an equal number of affectionate hugs. Surprisingly, the ordinarily standoffish young man didn't seem to mind being grabbed and cuddled, and he still had a small boy in his arms when he ventured over to the crafting table.

Shiro smiled at the very firm grip that the cub had on Keith's jacket. “Busy morning?”

Keith nodded. “And a fair amount of last night, too. A bunch of the kids couldn't sleep and got loose, so I wound up playing with them for a while. I had to call a breather a little after midnight, though—you had a big one, and I had to sit down until it cleared.”

“I missed it,” Pidge admitted. “I was wrecked, and slept like a brick. Was it an important one?”

Shiro sighed. “I'm not sure, and it wasn't pleasant. It... ended badly. I'll need to discuss it with everybody, but not just now. Did you need something?”

“Not me, personally,” Keith said, bouncing the boy in his arms to make him giggle. “I'd rather play with the kids all day, but Allura asked me to call the team up to the bridge for a talk. I think she might have caught a little of your vision, too.”

Shiro remembered the force and vividness of his dreaming, and shivered. “I wouldn't be surprised. Well, we'd better--”

“Oh, no,” Lance said, startling them all. “I just got art class really rolling here. Keith, Pidge, Shiro, _sit._ If Allura really wants to talk, she can come down here to do it. Kids, who wants to tell Uncle Keef the rules?”

“ _And_ Pezzam!” One little boy stated, pointing to the cub in Keith's arms. “Rule One is _No Building Weapons.”_

There was a great deal of shouting of rules and shifting about as the children made room for them at the table; unable to politely refuse, Shiro and Pidge joined them, and Keith simply sat down with Pezzam in his lap and accepted a pile of sticks and a bottle of glue without complaint. The small, shy boy reached for them eagerly and immediately began to lay down a foundation, and Pidge smiled to see that. “You like being Uncle Keef, huh?”

Keith gave her a slightly embarrassed smile. “Yeah. Instincts, right? I go all mushy inside when they call me that. I spent most of the morning basically wearing this one, and I don't mind at all.”

“You've got to keep doing that,” the little girl sitting next to him said firmly. “Uncle Thrantan says he needs it, and he does. Pezzam's papa doesn't like him 'cause he's too little, so we 'dopted him. Pezzam's papa is dumb not to want him, 'cause Pezzam's really smart.”

“What happened to his mother?” Pidge asked.

The little girl shrugged. “His mama's never there. She doesn't like Lady Inzera, an' Lady Inzera doesn't like her, and his dumb papa won't let her take her cubs with her when she goes away. _My_ mama looked after them 'cause their papa is dumb, and _she_ says that it was an arranged marriage and shouldnt've happened anyway, and _my_ mama took Pezzam with us when we left 'cause she doesn't trust his dumb papa around a glass corner with a burnt-out match.”

Shiro had to stifle a snort of laughter. “I take it that you've got your own opinions on the subject.”

The little girl gave him an arch look. “I _want_ Pezzam to be my brother. I've only got six, and he's smarter than they are. Now make something nice with sticks.”

Pezzam gave him a smug grin, and Shiro saw a distinct family resemblance between the boy and Lizenne. Well, the boy was better off here than there, Shiro thought, and then lined up his popsicle sticks in a neat row. Oh, god, he hadn't done this since kindergarten. Now how did this go again...?

A little time later, Allura came in all primed for a good scold, and had to stop and stare. “My goodness. How did this get started?”

Lance smirked at her. “Simple. I was giving Kevaah an art lesson, and then Antler Guy wanted to know what was going on, and then some of the kids showed up and wanted to join in, and some of them went and got the other kids, who went and got some other kids, and their parents wanted to know what was going on, too. There wasn't enough room for all of them, so Tilla and Soluk have been keeping half the party happy while these kids had their turn, and in about ten minutes or so, they'll switch sides. Want to join in?”

“No, thank you,” Allura said, although her eyes lingered longingly on the big box of sticks. “Are you sure that the dragons won't mind? Some of the children seem to have gotten a bit... sticky. Some might need a bath, in fact.”

There was giggling around the table, and Lance waved a reassuring hand. “No need to worry. It's a water-based, non-toxic kid's glue, and it wipes off easy with a wet towel. No bath necessary.”

One of the little girls gave him a sharp look. “I like baths, and Aunt Zaianne says you've got a hot tub. Lady Miriar has a hot tub, but she wouldn't share with _anybody._ How come we can't use the hot tub?”

“Well, uh...” Lance said, suddenly pinned in the searchlight glare of several dozen accusing amber eyes. “You can, that's all right, but it's not big enough for everybody all at once. You'd have to take turns.”

The little girl smirked, unscrewed the top of the big glue bottle that Lance had been using to refill the smaller ones, and dumped it over her head with a _gloop._ “Me first!”

Allura laughed as the girl's neighbors squeaked in dismay and scrambled clear of the fallout. “I applaud your decisive action, young lady,” Allura said sweetly, “but however are you going to get to the bathing room now? You seem to be stuck to the floor.”

“Um...” the little girl said, and found that Allura was regrettably correct. “Help!”

Keith smirked. “And that's Rule Six: Think Before You Act, or else your brothers get to point and laugh, and then Pidge--” he jerked a thumb at his teammate, who had already brought out her handcomp, “--will record a video, which she'll send to your parents, who will probably bring it out when you bring home your first date...”

“Pot calling the kettle black, Keith,” Lance hissed in his direction, earning himself a dirty look in return.

Seeing that these terrible things were happening even as he spoke, the glue-covered girl let out a piercing squeal of protest and grabbed at the wet towel that Lance handed her. Pidge leaned back and grinned over her shoulder at an equally amused couple sitting on a nearby couch and asked, “Want a copy of this?”

“Of course,” the father said, his eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. “We'll take over for you here, Lance, if the Princess's business cannot wait.”

“And if you would give us directions to the hot tub as well, that would be very kind,” the mother said, fighting down her own hilarity.

Shiro furnished those while Pidge helped Keith divest himself of a very clingy boy-cub, and then he helped Pidge pry said clingy boy-cub off of her sweater, to which he clung like a giggling cockleburr. Only Allura's smooth, form-fitting Altean suit defeated Pezzam's little claws, and Keith had to promise to come back as soon as he could to prevent a temper tantrum.

Once safely out in the blessed quiet of the hallway, Shiro felt able to ask, “What did you need us for, Allura?”

Allura reached out and brushed a tuft of baby fur off of his shirt. “I was trying to call a conference up on the bridge. We're currently heading toward the Fleet resupply port, but the _Quandary_ was called away to help with a problem in the Bamnapos sector; something a bit peculiar has been happening up by the Fringe worlds, and Yantilee is not one to let surprises sneak up behind her. She'll rejoin us at the port if she can. And also... well, we're going to have to meet with Lelannis and Lizenne, apparently to plan for the future of Modhri's family.”

“That's going to be awkward,” Lance said darkly. “They can't stay with us forever, and there's no real place they can go right now. I mean, they were being chased, weren't they?”

Keith nodded grimly. “Like crazy. Mom says that Lizenne's folks might demand help from the Military, or even the Ghamparva, to get them back.”

“We can house them until we find them a place of safety,” Allura said firmly, leading them toward the lift. “We certainly have the room, and it's doing the Castle some good; after a good night's sleep and a pleasantly lazy morning, I am told that the engineers that the Blades brought back from Nelargo shipyard have been going over the Castle's systems.”

Shiro whistled between his teeth. “We'll want to have Hunk introduce them to the Castle, then, just to make sure that it'll let them work on it without trouble. Nothing's more dangerous than an engineer who's both bored and frustrated.”

Pidge nodded. “I'll help with that, too. I've been itching to talk with those guys—how did they make those Ghamparva ships so strong, and what kind of stealth tech were they using, and—ooh, those ion guns! They were small, but wow, did they pack a punch!”

“I repeat what I said about bored and frustrated engineers,” Shiro said lightly, earning himself a poke in the ribs. “It would be good to have this ship running at peak condition. Modhri has done his best, but he's only one man.”

“He is, and he has responsibilities of his own.” Allura waved a hand at the ceiling. “The Castle used to have over a hundred technicians, all dedicated to the well-being of the ship and all of its functions. We didn't need quite so many, perhaps, but Coran's grandfather insisted, so that no matter what time it was or whatever scrape Father had gotten Voltron into, there would always be someone awake and on hand to fix whatever might break. Father knew better than to argue with him.”

Keith heard the note of sorrow in her voice, and reached out to pat her shoulder. “We'll get your people freed, Princess. It won't be much longer now.”

She flicked him a sad smile, but sobered almost instantly. “It's not freeing them that will be the hard part,” she murmured, “it will be keeping them safe afterward. Quolothis is so close to the Empire's core, far too close to approach now, and I wonder if we dare approach while Zarkon and Haggar still live. Even after we've dealt with those two, what is to keep the General Staff or the High Houses from using them against us?”

“We'll figure it out, Allura,” Pidge said staunchly, and then brightened up. “Hey, maybe we could steal another few more space stations, and I could wake them up so they'd be like Jasca and Clarence, and they could be Quolothis's guardians!”

“Yeah, until they got bored, or until we really needed them somewhere else,” Lance said, scowling as he considered the tricks that Fate could play. “Let's not draw any attention to them. I've been getting a sort of feeling that the Imperial attention span isn't all that long lately, and if we keep him focused on us, he won't think about Quolothis.”

Shiro frowned. “You may be right.”

It wasn't the bridge that Allura led them to, but back to the kitchen, where Hunk was currently basking in some well-earned adoration. Sixteen women in various stages of pregnancy were sitting around the kitchen table, ranging in age from an experienced matron who was starting to show a few threads of gray in her fur to a rather self-conscious girl barely out of her teens. Between them, the table was littered with piles of empty plates, some stacked very high indeed.

“Hey, guys!” Hunk greeted the team as they walked in, his normally immaculate apron showing signs of a very busy day. “I'd invite you to join the party, but the ladies here have already had all the snacks. Allura, we're going to be hitting that resupply station soon, right? The pantry's starting to look a bit thin.”

“Within the next few hours,” Allura reassured him, nodding politely to their guests as she did so. “I made sure that Maozuh was properly apprised of our needs.”

“That's good, 'cause I've got a list,” Hunk mimed checking a list that was rather longer than he was tall. “I hate to say it, ladies, but you eat like we do after a major space battle.”

The matron smiled and patted her belly. “That's not an insult, young man. It is normal and expected for a pregnant woman to attempt to eat her own weight in food every day, and while a wife and mother should be fit, she should never be skinny. Bearing and nursing cubs, particularly large clutches of cubs, uses up a tremendous amount of energy and resources, and that requires almost constant refueling. I'll tell you right now that my lot here truly appreciated those lelosha wraps.”

Hunk beamed happily at this praise, and Shiro offered them a small bow. “I'm glad that we're able to provide. Do you mind if we speak privately with Hunk for a moment? There are things that we need to discuss.”

“Of course,” the matron said graciously, heaving herself to her feet. “I could do with a nap, in fact, and I don't doubt that my colleagues here would enjoy one, too.”

The youngest one, who was only just starting to show and therefore had the most energy to spare, looked reluctant to leave but followed the rest of the women out of the room. The team spent a little time clearing the table before getting down to business first, though—it's hard to discuss tactics if you've just dunked your elbow in a leftover sauce dish.

“Having fun, Hunk?” Lance asked, wiping crumbs off of the table.

Hunk smiled happily and stuffed his apron down a nearby laundry chute. “Oh, yeah. That lady you were talking to just now? She's been the head housekeeper for Lizenne's folks for ages, and she started out in the kitchen. She knows all of the secret recipes, guys, and she's a genius where it comes to baking. She shared a bunch of those recipes with me, and now I want to bake all the things, but we're almost out of sylth flour. So, what's up?”

Allura thumped down into a chair, prompting the others to do the same. “A number of things. First on the list, of course, is replenishing the Castle's supplies. The _Quandary_ will probably meet us there, which will allow us to drop off our Hoshinthra and discuss current events with Yantilee; according to her, some strange things are happening out along the Fringes of the Empire.”

“Huh,” Hunk said with a frown. “Gantarash?”

She shook her head. “Piracy, and not Fleet piracy. Someone has been going to every Galra outpost over a certain strength and making off with their best ships.”

“What?” Pidge said indignantly. “That's my job!”

“You've got competition,” Allura told her. “The culprit has also been disposing of those garrison's commanders, and occasionally, the Governors as well.”

Keith scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “Wow. That's going to leave a lot of planets vulnerable, isn't it? Zarkon doesn't post his best ships way out there in the first place, and if they're gone, the Fleet won't have any trouble finishing the job.”

“Maybe,” Shiro said, “but doing that all at once would strain the Fleet's resources, and spread them too thin. Who's stealing those ships, and why?”

“Accounts vary,” Allura said, waggling a hand. “Understandably, the Galra themselves aren't willing to talk about it. Yantilee tells me that some say that the Gantarash have been picking them off, or the Ortakans, but most of her informants say that it's probably Lotor. He may be rebuilding his own battlefleet.”

“Oh, crud, I'd forgotten about him!” Lance said, fining himself a swat on the forehead. “His dad's all mad that he couldn't catch us, right? I'll bet that he's not allowed to get new ships from the usual places anymore.”

“Try 'wanted: dead or alive',” Hunk said grimly. “The ladies shared some gossip with me, too, just now, and if Zarkon catches up with that Prince, he's toast. Remember what that Ghamparva guy said to him, back on Thek-Audha? He wasn't supposed to be at that fight in the Nanthral Dwarf Cluster either, and he kind of screwed the pooch by butting in like that. If that's him out there, he'll probably take another stab at us.”

“Great,” Pidge grumped. “Why doesn't that big blue doofus just go out beyond the Empire somewhere? There's a lot more Universe to explore, you know. He could set up his own little kingdom or something, and spend the rest of his life not being our problem. Why does he have to be our problem, Hunk?”

Hunk grimaced in distaste. “Because he's a big blue doofus with affluenza and serious daddy issues?”

“His daddy _is_ an issue,” Keith grumbled, “either way, we're probably gonna be busy. Speaking of vulnerable planets, isn't it getting close to the time where we were supposed to sign Valenth into the Coalition?”

They stared at him in surprise for a moment, and Shiro nodded slowly, a few flickers of the days to come sparkling in the back of his mind. “You're right. Not just yet, but soon. I'm not sure how it's going to happen, but it will.”

Allura nodded decisively. “I made a promise to Trenosh, and I will keep it. No world should have to fear slave raiders and cosmic death spiders, or exploitation by a corrupt military-industrial complex. We'll want to--”

Her wrist-comm chirped at that point, cutting her off. _“Princess?”_ Coran's voice asked, _“We seem to have arrived, and are in the process of docking. Kindly tell Hunk to present himself and his shopping list, will you? The Quartermaster-General wishes to have a word with him.”_

“He sounds a little grumpy today,” Lance observed, once Allura had acknowledged the request.

Hunk shrugged and picked up his handcomp. “Having a horde of furry purple rugrats chewing holes in your trousers all morning will do that. He forgot to put on his shin guards, and they like the way he tastes. Come on, guys, shopping trip time. If we're lucky, Maozuh will have some thelwisk seeds for us.”

“Think that'll be enough?” Lieutenant Tilwass asked, casting a thoughtful eye over the serried ranks of his Prince's patchwork armada. “That last batch was old, but in really good shape.”

Lotor ran the whetstone lovingly along the edge of his sword; many preferred to use forceblade weapons, but he had always liked the weight of good steel in his hand. A metal sword had a certain authority about it, and if it was made of the right alloys and forged by a master craftsman, even the best forceblades couldn't stand against it. Not without a certain amount of wear and tear, unfortunately; this last challenger had been skilled with his blade, and had put a nick in Lotor's own before he fell.

“They are all usable?” he asked.

“Yessir. Ten _Vasnir-_ class cruisers, five _Intix-_ class destroyers, and even an old _Kereppa-_ class heavy scout, if you can believe it. Still working after all this time, for all that the thing should be in a museum. At least leave them the scout, all right? It won't be of any use against a Lion, and you'll break the Governor's heart if you take his toy away.”

Lotor vented an amused snort and admired the sheen of his blade before sliding it back into its sheath. “I feel that to be reasonable, but we will take the rest. I may even return them after we've captured the Lions, since the Governor has been so very accommodating.”

Tilwass translated that mentally as _“too scared to object”_. Lonoko's Governor wasn't a very brave man to start with, and having the Prince and his battlefleet show up out of nowhere like that had nearly frightened him into hysterics. The fact that the gunners had taken out the local communications satellites upon arrival had scared him even more. They wouldn't be able to stay for long, of course; the Emperor had men who were as good at listening for silences as they were at listening for noise, and some of the Captains had been reporting sightings of Ghamparva scouts again. Not good, although rumor had it that the Ghamparva had problems of their own right now.

“Good enough, sir,” he said neutrally. “Captains Thakranz and Udrent say that they're in position, and Lasht, Narach, and Tixard are almost there. Another day or two at the most, and they'll all be ready to strike. Want to hit any more colonies while they're getting ready?”

Lotor looked up at the screens, his eyes calculating his forces with care. “Do any of the colonies between here and Halidex have any better a garrison than this one does?”

Tilwass checked his notes. “No, sir. We're right out on the Fringe, here. Your dad doesn't waste the good stuff on the Fringe.”

Lotor hummed in agreement. “Then this will be enough. Tell the pilots to move us into position near Halidex. The moment that the detached squadrons are ready, we will attack.”

Tilwass looked up at the armada again. They were proud ships, but many were very old. Given a choice, he would not have willingly pitted them against Voltron. Some of the ships at the garrisons they'd robbed had had ships that he wouldn't have pitted against a sock puppet. Lotor was still adamant about taking the Lions, unfortunately; their encounter with the Paladins at that Gray Port hadn't shaken his resolve at all. _Sometimes, all of the choices suck road salt,_ he thought, but what he said was, “Yessir.”

“Have you been in touch with your contacts lately, Tilwass?” Lotor asked, surprising him out of his thoughts.

“Hmm? Not lately,” Tilwass said, although not entirely truthfully. “Busy as we've been, things are even busier at Center, and we've been under comm silence for most of the time, anyway. I have been talking to the new Captains, though, and they say that something big happened this time. Not something that the Paladins did—it was the Rogue Witch instead.”

Lotor humphed softly. He'd seen that woman in person only once, and briefly, having been far more interested in Princess Allura at the time. A tap on the controls called up the official wanted poster, and he mused that the people who'd drawn up the image hadn't gotten it entirely wrong, at least. “And what did that witch do?”

Tilwass grinned. “You're gonna like this, sir. You know how we stole those ten Nelargo guys? She got the rest.”

Lotor stared at him incredulously for a long moment. “All of them? Ye gods, did they kill the Ghurap'Han Matriarch, too?”

“Don't think so,” Tilwass replied. “Inzera's howling for blood pretty well for a corpse. Ship's captains gossip more than old women, and our new gossips tell me that she's been hassling the Core World fleet commanders to help her get them back. They've got orders of their own to follow, so they're telling her no, and she may just take it all the way up to the Throne. No Nelargo techs, no Ghamparva ships.”

Lotor began to laugh, and it was some time before he could stop. Eventually, he got control of himself again. “Thank you, Tilwass, I needed that. Has there been any news concerning the Hoshinthra?”

Tilwass sobered. “Yeah, but it's not funny. It's them, all right, and not just the _Night Terror._ They've confirmed it up, down, and sideways that there are whole fleets of those monsters, and they're everywhere. Some even popped up near the Core Worlds, and all seven of those planetary governments collectively wet their trousers over it, which is why Inzera's not going to get much help.”

Lotor frowned at the screens, all humor gone. “Which will leave her and her House vulnerable, not just to her rivals, but to Father's ire. He does not like it when his favorite murder squads are inconvenienced. And the Hoshinthra are not allied with the Fleet?”

Tilwass shrugged. “Can't say for sure, sir. Ghost Fleet ships clear off if those big black ships show up, and while Voltron did hit Poboio System just recently with one tagging along, they weren't sure if it was part of the team or just being opportunistic. It was only a _little_ black ship, they said.”

“According to the records, there is no such thing as a _little_ Hoshinthra,” Lotor said sourly, “Only less of them or more of them, and even that wasn't much of a distinction. Did Voltron fight it, then?”

Once again, Tilwass was forced to admit ignorance. “Sorry, sir. Nobody who knows is talking because communications ended just about there. Empire's lost Poboio, too.”

Lotor heaved a long sigh. “Then I will assume that the Paladins triumphed. This only proves that the Empire has been aiming at the wrong target all along—Voltron is invulnerable, or almost, but its support ships are not. If we can capture those, we can force a capitulation. If we destroy those, all we will need to do is follow at a safe distance, and wait. Even legends must have rest and time for maintenance, and if we can deny them those for long enough, we can take them without drastic losses.”

“Sounds good, sir,” Tilwass said, but his expression darkened. “And then what?”

Lotor cast him an appreciative glance. “And then I will see if any among my fleet will serve as pilots for the Lions. I do not trust Father to deal with me fairly.”

Tilwass shuddered. “He'll kill you. Sir, he'll set every warfleet he's got after you. He'll come for you himself.”

Lotor smiled grimly. “Let him. I intend to be very hard to find until I can bring the Lions under my command, and I know rather more about the outer edges of his Empire than he does. Who knows? Perhaps the Ghost Fleet pirates will get lucky, and save me the trouble. Tell the pilots to get us to Halidex, Tilwass.”

Tilwass sighed, knowing that General Pendrash wasn't going to like this. “Yessir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanch and I recently decided to watch the first two seasons of Voltron again (say what you will about the last season, I still enjoyed the show and have a lot of good memories associated with all of it, and I won't let some bad writing and a disappointed shipping fandom ruin that for me) and have been having an awesome time reacquainting ourselves with the early details. This led us to looking back at our first story, and than the next, and the next....so on. And it just blows us both away how much support we've received over the last two years. To everyone who has commented to laugh or scream or even just to call us out on our random gags, you are awesome, and we thank you all. We really hope you stick with us as we continue our mad adventure, because we have so many more ideas for this story, and want to share them as long as people are still willing to read them.
> 
> tl;dr  
> You guys are amazing and we love you and would probably wither and die without your compliments. Be safe, happy, and proud.


	3. Legend Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Chapter Title: Spanch and Kokochan Are Weak For Mythology And Pack Interactions

Chapter 3: Legend Night

Everybody stared at the pillar of fire, which was taller than the thankfully-distant warehouses and was burning in several bright, cheery colors. It also smelled a bit like truffle oil, but that didn't really signify at the moment. While most of the ancient sundries and foodstuffs had left the Castle's storerooms quietly, this particular roomful of crates had taken poorly to being disturbed, and Maozuh's men had been forced to dump it on an empty landing pad to let nature take its course.

“Oooh!” the watching crowd of dockworkers said admiringly. “Aaaah!”

“Wow,” Hunk said, finishing the traditional sequence. “Kind of past the sell-by date, huh?”

“A bit past it, yes,” Coran admitted sadly. “It takes a good long while for Altean nutrient gels to age off, but I will admit that they've had the time.”

Lance viewed the huge pile of burning crates with horror. “And we were eating that stuff? Back in the beginning, I mean.”

“What, this? Don't be silly.” Coran waved a dismissive hand as another crate burst, sending a pillar of pink flame screaming skyward. “No, we were using the royal kitchen at the time, as you might recall. Still are. The concealed systems therein assemble the gels from chemically stable component molecules kept in the pure state in special tanks, although I shan't tell you where those component molecules come from because you Humans are squeamish about that sort of thing. This is all factory-made stuff, good for everyday use if you aren't too picky, but it does undergo some significant chemical changes if left for long enough, and the resulting solution doesn't like to be jostled, as you can clearly see. Or being exposed to fresh air.”

Another crate lifted off of the ground on a pillar of blue fire and burst thirty feet up in the air, sending brilliant comets streaking across the sky to land with smaller explosions on the neighboring landing fields. It was just fortunate that no other ships were parked within range.

“Alteans, man,” Hunk said, watching another crate belching a perfect spire of salmon-orange into the sky. “Hardcore. Allura, have you ever seen anything like this?”

Allura giggled. “All the time, when I was little. My cousins and I used to bribe the palace servants into getting us the very cheapest of gel-cube snacks from tetla-booths at the shopping centers, and we would leave them in the Castle's storerooms for phebes at a time. When they were old enough, we would find a high window and throw the cubes out in handfuls, watching the pretty colors as they fell.”

Pidge gave her a suspicious, sidelong look. “And watched the gardeners and groundskeepers running for their lives, I bet.”

“Only the first few times,” Allura admitted. “After the head gardener complained about the damage to the talia-roses, Father said we could only throw the cubes out of windows that were over non-flammable surfaces. Even so, we did have to give it up after a while. We'd set fire to two rooftops, six vehicles, a very large ceremonial headdress, and a pond, and Mother put her foot down.”

Shiro stared at her. “You set fire to a _pond?”_

“It was having a particularly bad algae bloom at the time,” Allura said simply, watching a pair of crates spiral up into the air, blasting green and magenta flames as they tumbled. “I will say that we never managed anything quite as impressive as this.”

“It's a good thing that we got it all out before it blew, then,” Shiro said, and then jumped as the pile tumbled apart to allow a smaller crate to lift off on a jet of incandescent white. Unlike the others, this one looked like it might achieve orbit. “Special batch?”

Coran shaded his eyes, squinting upward. “'Fraid so. Grandmother used to pack Pop-Pop a nice crate of her own secret recipe—she was a nutritional scientist, you see—and he misplaced one once. Never found it again, which rather annoyed him. Just one of her special super-nutrient cubes could keep you going day and night, whether you wanted it to or not.”

The streak of brilliant white in the heavens made it to cloud level, flashed through the entire rainbow twice, and then burst with an explosion that shook their bones. “Wonderful woman,” Coran muttered, wiping a nostalgic tear from one eye. “Very talented.”

“Yeah,” Pidge said, watching the sparkling fragments descend. “Come on, Maozuh's waiting for us.”

Shiro had never met the _Quandary's_ Quartermaster, and couldn't help but be impressed. More than anything else, she resembled a white-dappled, charcoal-gray salamander, if salamanders could be six feet tall, have four dark eyes, a glossy hide like patent leather, and the muscular physique of a professional kickboxer. The wrinkles and age lines only added character to the peculiar alien, who was watching the light show with interest.

“Nice one, Varda,” she told Pidge as they approached. “Haven't seen a blaze like that since I left home, when a neighbor's chemical lab caught fire. Been a busy girl, so you have, First Mate.”

Pidge grinned. “And then some. How've you been, Maozuh?”

Maozuh waved them into the warehouse. “Busy as you, or busier. Lots of ships to look after these days, and their parts and pieces all have to come from somewhere. Been talking to your Galra lads, Vennex and Trenosh, and they've got us a good line going with the Rakshane and Poberantha hubs, plus a bunch of colony worlds. Good business.”

“That's great!” Lance said, looking around in awe at the vast interior; dozens of rows of shelves almost three stories high held literally thousands of bales of wrapped goods each, and each bale was easily the size of a garden shed. “Tell them we said hi, okay?”

“Can do,” Maozuh replied calmly. “Won't cost you nothing, greetings nor groceries. Let's see that list, eh?”

Hunk hurried over to show her his handcomp. “Really? You aren't charging us for anything?”

“Can't,” Maozuh said with an odd movement of the shoulders that might have been a shrug. “Yantilee had a talk with Trosimon on Halidex, and Trosimon had a talk with his merchants, and they had a talk with the local smugglers, and so did we. 'Twas just after Varda rejoined you; we all agreed to keep the Castle and the _Chimera_ stocked free of charge, since heroes don't pile up much cash, and keeping you going costs less than feeding the Empire. Take what you like, but what you see's what we got.”

“Fair enough,” Hunk said, scrolling through the Castle's needs. “Most of what we need right now is food and some other stuff. We've got a little less than seven hundred people on board right now, a lot of them kids, and they've got a lot of growing to do.”

Maozuh squinted at her handcomp and nodded, then whistled shrilly; at that signal, several large drone pallets and a stacking drone came humming out of one aisle, ready to take on their loads. “Foodstuffs isn't my purview, ordinarily,” she said with a depreciating wave of one three-fingered hand, “but Ronok taught me the right way of it, and my commissary boys're all loading the _Chimera_ at the moment. They oughtta be back in just a tad, since yon Hanifor's largely self-maintaining. Can still fill the order, eh? Let's see how much of this we can find for you before they find us.”

They were actually able to find about a quarter of the goods before Maozuh's commissary crew found them, and then it was merely a matter of letting the professionals handle the project. Huge piles of raw materials filled up pallet after pallet, earning Coran's approval and making Hunk glow with happy anticipation. Allura watched the process with fascination, having never seen this aspect of keeping the Castle running before.

“I knew that it happened, of course,” she told them, “and it did so fairly frequently. Mother used to get very snippy if we ran out of her particular favorites, and Father's Seneschal used to insist that we stock up whenever we had to move the Castle somewhere, no matter how urgent the mission. It was simply that I was kept away from the actual process, probably to keep me out from underfoot. I wonder... Maozuh, do you carry anything other than comestibles and ship parts?”

“Everything,” Maozuh said, flicking a hand at the endless racks. “No Fleet ship's just like any other, and most of the crews're as mixed as Osric's. Foods, parts, medicines, ceremonial things, all sorts of apparel, raw product for making other stuff, furniture, medical supplies and equipment, cosmetics--”

“Thelwisk seeds?” Pidge asked hopefully.

“Art supplies?” Lance asked, no less hopefully.

“Tool kits?” Hunk inquired.

“Personal grooming items?” Coran queried.

“Weapons?” Keith said.

“Star charts?” Allura added.

“Books and music?” Shiro asked.

“Everything but thelwisk,” Maozuh said with an apologetic flip of her tail. “Out of season, girl, and 'tis rare to start with. Ronok's growing his own on Halidex, but it'll be another year or three ere his bushes start to produce more than a sprinkling.”

Pidge pouted for a moment, and then brightened up again. “How about small electronics?”

Maozuh smiled broadly, showing neat, triangular teeth. “Bales. Want a look?”

“Yes!” everyone chorused, and followed Maozuh happily down the aisles.

By the time that Maozuh's provisioners had finished piling up the Castle's necessities, the Paladins had filled up another pallet with personal goodies, and the Quartermaster-General herself had decided to help get their stuff stacked properly in the Castle's storerooms. The huge pile of nutrient-gel crates had burned out, at least, leaving a rather impressive scorchmark on the landing yard's pavement, and they passed by the vaguely fungal-smelling patch in wary silence. They were welcomed at the Castle's cargo entrance by a number of freight drones and a large crowd of Modhri's relatives, strong men who had obviously done this sort of work for most of their lives. Maozuh, who never let prejudice get in the way of professional respect, worked smoothly with them to get the goods sorted and stacked properly before allowing herself to gawp at the cavernous interior.

“Seen plenty of big ships,” she said, eying the graceful architecture with deep appreciation. “Never been aboard a royal ship. Nice. Good design, efficient, sturdy.”

Coran swelled with familial pride. “Built by my grandfather, who was a bit of a genius in his field. Very solid construction, with all the latest safety features and modern conveniences, later retrofitted to house the Lions when they weren't in use. Father used to joke that it was the best mobile home ever built, calling it a double-wide with a view, and then Pop-Pop would hit him with a stick. Great times.”

“Perhaps,” said a voice behind them, surprising the team into whirling around; dressed in mechanic's overalls and standing at the head of a large group of similarly-attired men was what looked to be one of Modhri's elder cousins. “It's a good ship, but it's old, and has seen a great deal of hard wear. I and my colleagues here worked at Nelargo Shipyard, Paladins, and would repay your generosity by improving the health of your ship.”

Allura had been expecting this and stepped forward, bowing slightly to acknowledge their skill. “Your kind offer is accepted, and gladly. We have had only two well-trained engineers aboard the Castle for a very long time now, and would welcome a full team. Indeed, I am a little surprised that you haven't begun work on it already.”

The senior tech smiled wryly. “We've tried, a little, but it won't let us do more than look, and some aspects of the design are unfamiliar to say the least. We'll need a proper introduction, and perhaps a manual if one can be found.”

“I'll handle that,” Hunk said firmly, stepping up next to Allura. “Dealing with this big guy's been pretty much my job for a while now, when Modhri and Coran weren't handling it. Where has Modhri been, anyway?”

The senior tech flicked a finger out of the cargo door, where the _Chimera_ was visible some distance away. “With his wife, that dark fellow, and the Blade woman, attending to his duties as Matriarch's Man for all he's worth. Necessary work right now, what with the odd arrangement our House has made with yours, but he'll be back among you soon enough. Probably with his Lady, too. Shall we get to our own work?”

“Sure thing,” Hunk said, holding out a hand. “I'm Hunk. You?”

The tech smiled and took his hand in a firm clasp. “Tenric.”

“Great to meet you, Tenric,” Hunk said, radiating welcome. “So, what part's being stubborn at you right now?”

Tenric turned and waved a hand at the ship in general. “All of it, but there's a secondary junction showing irregularities in power flow, and we can't even get the housing off to inspect it.”

“Right,” Hunk said, leveling a stern look at the nearest wall. “Show me that first, and we'll see about getting things straightened out for you.”

Tenric dipped a grateful bow to Allura, and then turned and led Hunk and the crowd of master technicians out of the room, leaving the others behind. Maozuh made a choking noise, and it was the first time that Pidge had ever seen Maozuh looking shocked. _“Nelargo?_ Those are Nelargo techs? Varda, what have you been doing? Nelargo Shipyard's one of the best in Core World space! _No_ Galra-staffed Yard has better techs, save maybe the Center, and thems as runs that Yard don't share their men with any other!”

Pidge giggled wickedly. “Well, it's a long story...”

“Speak,” Maozuh said bluntly, poking Pidge with a thick forefinger. “I'm too old for surprises like this.”

Pidge smirked and leaned back against a pallet. “Well, you know how Ghurap'Han owns Nelargo? All of their techs are another family, that's Khorex'Var, and it turns out that a little more than ten thousand years ago...”

Shiro decided to leave Pidge to it, and out of curiosity, to follow Hunk's party instead. He found them in one of the chambers near the ship's power core, where a large and unguessable device was presumably being uncooperative. Hunk had both hands on the device, standing still with his eyes staring off into the middle distance while the crowd of engineers stood by in respectful silence.

“Okay, that ought to do it,” Hunk said after a few minutes. “Castle's a little temperamental at times and he really misses the original Altean crew, but he'll warm up to you as soon as he's sure that you've all got real skills. It took him a while to get used to Modhri, and me and Pidge for that matter, but we all get along fine, now. Okay, let's see what's going on in here.”

Hunk put a hand on the stuck panel, fully expecting it to pop open at his touch. It did not, remaining stubbornly closed, and remained that way until he shot a warning glare at the installation. At that point, the panel dropped off and clattered to the floor, raising a ripple of amusement from the techs.

“Can you teach me to do that?” one of them asked.

“I'm not sure it can be taught,” Hunk said, poking the device with a stern finger. “Castle, we've been over this. Play nice. All right, that's better. Okay, guys, see this? This is similar to one of those big splitter arrays that you'll find in a light cruiser, only it's got six of these diverters here instead of the usual four. I'm pretty sure that a fair amount of Galra starship tech was ripped off of the leftover Altean tech after Zarkon blew them up, since the basic principles are really similar, only they never got around to figuring out the Altean power system. Castle doesn't need refueling, just recharging, and he does that sort of automatically between jumps, but after a big fight we have to find a quiet place where we won't be bothered for a while, and the Lions run on the same sort of system. When you get right down to it, he was originally designed to be a flagship at the head of an armada of other big Altean ships, but those are kind of hard to come by these days.”

“I see it,” Tenric said thoughtfully, running a hand over the housing. “Interesting. It would have something to do with Balmeran crystals, wouldn't it?”

“That's a major part of it, yeah,” Hunk said, “but a lot of it is tied up in the Teludav system, which is the only drive out there that needs skaltrite cookies to run, and getting that stuff is tricky. Keith and I had to get eaten by an actual Weblum to get some, and that's where we first met his mom...”

Smiling, Shiro left them to it. Everything—for the moment, at least—was going more or less to plan, and he wasn't needed for anything. So thinking, he took his box of entertainment media up to his room and then headed for the bridge to check in with Zaianne and whoever else was watching the helm. That turned out to be the mice, he was not at all surprised to see; with so many curious cubs around, being a small furry creature was actively hazardous right now.

“There you are, my son,” Zaianne said from the pilot's dais, and her affectionate smile warmed him. “How are things progressing?”

“As well as we could hope,” he replied, coming up to stand beside the dais. “Anything interesting happening up here?”

She sat down, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Peace and quiet. A rare thing right now, I'm afraid. The children are being kept occupied, the Castle reports that maintenance sessions are underway, the kitchens are in the process of restocking, and everything is in a state of cheerful bustle.”

“And you've been up here all day,” Shiro added.

She tugged his ear gently. “I'm Lizenne's sister. I have obligations to the Castle and to the team, but the inter-pack politics are a bit tricky at the moment. Lizenne is doing her absolute best to make this as easy on everybody as she can, and that means no power struggles between Matriarchs, particularly not on someone else's territory. Lelannis must be confident that she and her House are welcome, and Allura must be easy with her and her House's presence here before Lizenne can move openly in the Castle's halls.”

Shiro nodded. “And there's the fact that her family has been hard on Modhri's for a very long time, now.”

Zaianne frowned. “It varied. Some of the Ghurap'Han Matriarchs were kinder to them than others, but Inzera was a vicious tyrant, and Ghurap'Han has fallen into a parasitic habit over the past several centuries. Lizenne does not want either Khorex'Var's deference or animosity directed at her, so she is following protocol exactly. That alone will win her some respect.”

“I understand,” Shiro murmured, gazing at the big Hanifor ship in the distance. “Still, I need to talk to her. I had a Vision last night that she needs to know about.”

Zaianne gave him a sharp look. “Tell me.”

It was a relief to get that dire event out in the open at last, and Zaianne listened intently to every word, never once interrupting. She was silent for a long moment after he had finished, and sat there mulling over the details for some time before speaking again. “You're right. She does need to hear this. You said that Keith told you that Allura might have picked up a little of it?”

“He did,” Shiro murmured, “although she didn't comment on it earlier. She may have picked it up through the Lion. I actually felt the Lion of ten thousand years ago.”

Zaianne turned a look of maternal exasperation upon him. “Shiro, that sort of thing has been proven to be impossible at least six times throughout history.”

Shiro shrugged and gave her a helpless little smile. “Both he and I were as surprised about that as you are. We didn't mean to.”

The look she turned on him was one of pure disgust, but it softened immediately into a proud smile. “Keep it up. The more surprises you can produce, the less predictable you shall be. As for talking this one out, there is nothing that says that we cannot pay Lizenne a visit. Status, _Chimera?”_

“ _Resupply 90% complete, Zaianne,”_ the Castle's sister ship replied, sounding a little preoccupied. _“Maintenance procedures in progress. Estimated thirty doboshes to completion.”_

“Good enough. Kindly alert Lizenne that the Paladins and I would like a private chat at her convenience, please. Shiro has Seen something rather momentous and would like her opinion.”

“ _Acknowledged, Zaianne,”_ the _Chimera_ replied, paused, and continued. _“Pilot Lizenne responds with an affirmative and suggests that you plan your arrival for one varga's time.”_

“That will do nicely, _Chimera,_ and thank you,” Zaianne responded. “Signing out.”

Shiro smiled. “Not taking any chances, are you?”

She shook her head gravely. “None at all. Go and corral your teammates before they get bogged down in glue and craft sticks again, Shiro. This may not be immediately important, but it is significant nonetheless. Besides, your aunt and your uncle have been missing you, and will be delighted to have you over for a visit.”

“Should we bring the dragons as well?” Shiro asked.

Zaianne rolled her eyes. “They've been gnawed on, climbed on, pestered, badgered, and made to babysit all day. Guess.”

Shiro laughed and headed out to pass the word along.

“That's... very interesting,” Lizenne mused some time later. “His grandmother was right; while it is possible for two oracles in two different times to have their Visions meet like that, it is extremely rare. I note that the destruction did not begin until the Zarkon of the present intruded. And as for what was inhabiting him, well, I can't say for sure. Not without having a look at your memory, and I will not do that without your permission. As for what challenged it... hmm. Allura, did you see anything?”

“Very little,” Allura admitted. “It was like I was sitting in a different section of the garden, quite distant from them. I could see Shiro and Zarkon walking and talking together, but I heard nothing but the local night creatures. Up until it all went to pieces, anyway.”

“Describe it, if you would,” Lizenne asked.

Allura shivered. “ An ion bolt came down from above, setting off a violent earthquake. Zarkon was suddenly suffused with purple light, and then more ion blasts came down, shattering the world around us! Lizenne, the world was dying under me, murdered from above and below at the same time! Something very great and dark formed up out of Shiro's shadow—Zarkon was glowing brightly enough for him to cast one—and it was huge! Then Zarkon changed into something _dreadful,_ and it was sucking the Quintessence out of the earth itself! I woke up crying, as if something very precious had been lost forever.”

Shiro, who was sitting next to her, wrapped a sympathetic arm around her shoulders, and she leaned upon him for comfort. “Something had,” he said darkly. “Golraz, and its hero. The thing that changed wasn't Zarkon. Not really.”

“And you had no fear of the great dark thing in your shadow?” Lizenne asked.

Shiro glanced at her in surprise. “No. It was familiar, somehow. Not a threat to me, at least.”

Pidge scratched her nose and scowled at the pair of them. “This is metaphysics. I hate metaphysics. If it can't be picked up by a sensor or slapped down under a microscope, it comes too close to being junk science.”

Lance snorted. “Pidge, you're a Technomage. You _are_ junk science.”

Pidge stuck out her tongue at him. “That doesn't mean that I have to like it.”

Zaianne smiled grimly. “Our Gods are not necessarily subtle, no. Khaeth, have you told them the Tale of the Bone Spear yet?”

Keith shrugged. “There hasn't been time, and you're a better storyteller than I am.”

“Huh?” Lance asked, and then turned a suspicious look on Keith. “Galra tell bedtime stories? How come we don't get to hear Galra bedtime stories?”

Hunk poked him. “Because by the time bedtime rolls around, we're pooped enough to pass out cold halfway to bed most of the time, that's why. Modhri, why is an old bedtime story important?”

“Because it isn't a bedtime tale, or not entirely.” Modhri sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing absently at his left shoulder. “It's an oral history of a very ancient event that occurred well before Galra developed a non-nomadic way of life. A very great and terrible monster chewed its way into the world, and the God Kuphorosk set out to defeat it before it could devour the planet. He won the battle, but the monster fragmented, and parts scattered far and wide to perpetuate the monster's evil. Bone Spears are the God's gift to his people as a means by which of dealing with those parts. We know that the deity has a stake in our adventures already; perhaps that stake is larger than we thought it was.”

Lance glanced back and forth between Modhri and Zaianne suspiciously. “Nobody's told me a bedtime story in years, and now I _really_ want to hear this one.”

“After dinner, Lance,” Zaianne promised. “We'll gather up a great many cubs and a great deal of popcorn and blankets, and have a legend night in the main lounge.”

Lizenne nodded. “Good idea. Take the spear with you when you go—not only will it be a good prop, but it will want to hear the story as well. It's been getting restless, and needs to be reminded of its purpose.”

Shiro blinked. “Isn't that dangerous?”

“Yes, but that's only to be expected,” Lizenne said darkly. “It smelled Haggar on the last Robeast you fought, and drank deeply of the energies that it exuded. It will want more, and soon. Every dram that it consumes makes it stronger, and thirsty for another. Hearing of its Master's noble exploits should calm it somewhat. I would bring it myself, but I will not insult Lelannis by butting in too early.”

Hunk's face crumpled up sadly. “Aw. And I wanted to invite you over for dinner, too.”

Lizenne shook her head. “Not this time. Not for another few days at least. Invite Kevaah and Erantha, they're currently one level down, making sure that the _Chimera's_ supplies are stocked properly, and I doubt that either of them have had a good pajama party in their entire lives. Modhri and I both had the benefit of listening to his grandmother when we were small, and so know all the old tales already.”

Allura nodded. “We can do that. Is there anything I can do to help things along, Lizenne? I know that this is very difficult for you.”

Lizenne gave her a grateful look. “Just continue to be your exquisitely gracious self, Allura. Make Lelannis and her House feel as welcome and accepted as possible, and if they offer to help, let them. Bring them in and make them a part of your own world; Galra are territorial, and we feel a deep need to have firm and familiar ground under our feet.”

Hunk raised a hand with a smile. “I've already turned the guys who worked at the Shipyard loose on the Castle's systems. Those guys are super, super skilled, and they need to be kept busy.”

Modhri smiled, and heaved a deep sigh of relief. “That will help a very great deal. It's a great show of trust to do that so soon. May I guess that the staff kitchen has been reopened as well?”

Keith smiled. “Has it ever. We've got six-hundred-plus people to feed, and the whole housekeeping end of the family just sort of gravitated to it. Hunk's looking after the pregnant ladies, too, but you can't walk by the big kitchen without getting pulled in to taste whatever's ready at that moment. It's really good, too.”

Zaianne chuckled. “To say nothing of Lance's art classes in the lounge. They're doing everything right, Lizenne. You could always invite Lelannis and her best men here for a quick hunt to round things off.”

Lizenne's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “They've come that far already?”

Zaianne gazed upon the Paladins with a proud smile. “By tomorrow, they will have. Shall I deliver your invitation?”

Modhri nodded eagerly. “To be answered at their convenience, if you would. I would dearly love to show my parents the envirodeck.”

Word of a legend night spread quickly around the Castle, and by the time that bedtime had come, the entire ship was humming with excitement. Such entertainments had apparently been rare under the authority of House Ghurap'Han, and everyone helped to collect blankets and pillows until the entire main lounge looked more like the dragon's den. Hunk, of course, had supplied vast amounts of hot buttered popcorn, and the sound of happy crunching was a constant background noise. The bone spear had been leaned against one wall, looking entirely innocuous until one realized that it was floating about an inch off of the floor and was emitting a deep, subtle hum, like a cello string being continuously stroked. Even the most curious of the cubs left it strictly alone. Keith had wisely claimed a large papasan-style chair ahead of time, and had just gotten comfortable when Allura, to his surprise, climbed in beside him. “This was Grandmother's favorite chair, once,” she whispered to him, wiggling in comfortably. “She and I used to spend hours reading stories to each other in it.”

Keith felt a pang of sympathy; his father had once told him stories too, long and long ago. “That's nice. Mom's really good, and this story's fun.”

The room was filling up with children of all ages, and no few adults as well. Here and there among the throng were more familiar figures—Hunk flopped down in his teddy-bear PJ's next to Lance on a big squashy green couch, Kevaah lurking in another papasan in the corner, Erantha enthroned in a wingback chair some distance from him, and Shiro sitting next to a mousie-suited Pidge in another thronelike chair that had been designed for someone roughly the size of a rhinoceros. Coran was lounging gracefully on a fainting-couch while cubs played with the tasseled sash and hems of his dressing-gown. Antler Guy was present as well, lying on a carefully-delineated patch of bare floor, which made sense. Those hooves and scales weren't good for soft furnishings. At last, the lights dimmed, causing the audience to sigh in satisfaction, although one chair right at the front of the room, right next to where the spear stood in fact, retained a brighter illumination; Zaianne, proud as any queen in her pajamas and fluffy slippers, took that seat and settled in comfortably.

“It was said, of the Ancient Days,” she began in that clear, carrying voice that sent thrills through everybody present, “when all of creation ended at the sky and the world was very different, when the Gods still walked among mortalkind and left burning footprints upon the ocean, it was a time of great and wondrous things. Wondrous though they might have been, life was not easy in those days, but those challenges made our ancestors strong, and great joys and great sorrows stalked them even as they themselves followed the herds. Following the hunters and the hunted alike was the God Kuphorosk, He Who Awaits, He Who Strikes, He Who is Death, He Who catches us when we fall and brings us to rest for a time, ere His Sister Huiverash deems us ready to be sent out into the world again. He Who guards the living as well, for the wise hunter protects his Domain and his herds, and hunts whatever comes to despoil them. I will tell you now of His greatest hunt, and of a dire being greater and more terrible than any that the world had ever seen.

“In the Age of the Kimbranosh, the Year of the Lokoni-Sadrett, in the Season of Hadrith, a monster came into the world...”

This was a fuller retelling than what she had told Keith that first time, and he snuggled down against the cushions to listen with the wide and shining eyes of a properly appreciative audience. He felt Allura arranging herself along his back, her long arm draping over his waist and her chin resting on his shoulder. She was very warm against his spine, and very alive. She smelled nice, a sweet, faintly earthy aroma that was both familiar and comforting after spending the past couple of days surrounded by strangers. He slid his own arm down hers, and when his hand found her hand, their fingers interlaced as easily as breathing, and held as strongly as any anchor.

Zaianne even sang the songs and chanted the battle poetry that she'd skipped the first time, or some of them, at least; the cadences were a little strange to the Human ear, but his blood knew the music, and thrilled to it.

On the green couch, Hunk and Lance had their arms wrapped around each other, breathless with excitement as the ancient God did battle with Knives that were not quite adequate to the task, against a monster that was as bad or worse than any of the Robeasts they had fought. Voltron, and by extension, they, were up against something very similar to the great Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak, but Lance knew with painful clarity that they were not gods. No matter what however many religions out there said, the Lions were machines. Big, magic machines, but machines all the same. Did they really have what it took to fight what they were up against? A big, soft-furred arm squeezed him gently, and he looked up at Hunk, who was totally absorbed in the story, his face free of all fear or doubt. Even in his teddy-bear suit, Lance could see his strength and steadfastness. Of course they could do it, those broad shoulders and clear brow seemed to say; they couldn't _not_ do it, not with so much going for them now.

Shiro wasn't watching Zaianne at the moment. He was watching Kevaah, who had tipped up his papasan so that it was more of a bowl than a seat, and was peering over the edge with wide, golden-orange eyes. Several small boys had joined him and were sharing their tub of popcorn with the fascinated adult. Sooner or later, he would have to ask Zaianne how old the man really was; he'd seen the inside of a mad-science lab before—two, if one counted Lizenne's gene-lab—and wouldn't have been at all surprised if Kevaah wasn't all that much older than the boys tucked in next to him. Erantha, too, had company; a small girl had clambered up into her lap, and they were clinging to each other in predatory delight as Zaianne described, blow-by-blow, how the mighty Kuphorosk battled the monster with the one Knife that was almost strong enough to really hurt it. It lent a softness to the warrior-woman's face and posture that he'd never seen before, and realized that he'd caught her in a truly unguarded moment. Coran was cuddling an armful of cubs as well, with more peering out from the safety of his robe, and all of them wore identical expressions of wonder.

Pidge jumped and squeaked as Zaianne's hand lashed out, once, twice, three times in quick succession with an imaginary knife, slicing a limb from a dire fiend, knocking out a deadly fang, and stabbing it in the ribs that it didn't have, and she wasn't alone in that; there were flinches and squeaks of alarm from all over the room at those sharp gestures. Pidge wrapped her arms around Shiro's waist in a bear hug, clinging tightly to his shirt and shivering when Zaianne mimicked the nerve-shattering screech of an invulnerable entity that had just experienced real pain for the first time. Shiro wrapped his arms around her, intending to comfort, and felt the strength in her instead. That was excitement, not fear, and she waited as eagerly as any Galra in the room to hear what came next. He remembered how his team had pulled the essential _him_ free from the obscene body that Haggar had forced on him not so long ago, and knew that he held the very soul of courage in his arms.

Zaianne took a drink of water at this point, and her eyes twinkled humorously at the captivated crowd. “A triumph, and a great one indeed, for Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak was in retreat, great streams of not-blood pouring from its wounds and sublimating upon the air, but one that had come at a heavy price. Kuphorosk was weary, and His three Knives were irreparably broken, and all He had to show for His efforts was a long, ugly, smelly, evil leg, still twitching with not-life, and a shard of ice that burned with unhealthy fires. What was He to do with such foul objects? Quite a bit, as it turned out. Wise Kuphorosk had learned His craft from His Great Father Ethekorosk, the First Of All Hunters, and had learned that if a beast had nothing to fear from the fangs and claws of predators, it would fear its own kind. E'en as the great haikalpha of the lowland jungles sent even the strongest of tachkaru running for their lives—with the huge spines and horns they bore, combined with their great strength, they could easily destroy each other... and often did. Kuphorosk realized that He held the very key to the monster's destruction, and all it would take to make it into the ultimate weapon was a bit of work.

“The clever God had the knowledge of such weapons, but not the tools to make one, and so He took Himself to the dwelling-place of His Brother Korshedrosk, God of Craftsmen, to borrow the necessary items. Alas, like all truly great craftsmen, Korshedrosk was very, very interested in such a rare project, and wished very much to take part in it, despite His having no skill in making weapons.” Zaianne raised a finger and waggled it sternly. “Weapons, my friends, are the purview of Hunters and Warriors; thus may the Crafts-folk take the credit for absolutely everything else.”

A ripple of appreciative laughter passed through the more technically-inclined members of the audience, and Allura smiled smugly. Her people had built a very respectable interstellar Kingdom on the strength of their craft, resorting to weapons only when nothing else would serve. Indeed, she had used the craft that her own parents had trained her in, that being diplomacy, multiple times already to bring the many subjects of the Empire over to the Coalition instead. Coran felt much the same from the look of it, reclining nobly and twirling his mustache, for he, too, eschewed weapons in favor of subtler means. Keith elbowed her lightly in the ribs, and she looked down to meet those dark, gold-ringed warrior's eyes, fathomless and beautiful. _You can't do it all without us,_ they said, _we need each other to hold the balance._ He was right, of course, and Allura was glad of it, for she wouldn't willingly give up what they had between them.

Zaianne was now describing how Kuphorosk, who didn't really want to have to work with his brother breathing down his neck, tried to steal a roll of tools from Korshedrosk's Crafthall without being seen; unsurprisingly, he failed at this endeavor. What did surprise Zaianne was the middle-aged gentleman who stepped up beside her and declared in an accusing voice: “Ho, Brother, why do you come here? Do you become so very bored with greater game, that you would hunt insects in and among my chisels and awls? Why do you stand there so awkwardly, and what is it that you have thrust behind your back?”

Zaianne jerked in surprise, but continued the narrative without missing a beat. “Nay, Brother, I but admire your skill. Long have I wondered at the use of such things, and how you build and maintain with them!”

The man leaned on the back of her chair, looking patently unimpressed. “Long? Long? What duration might that be, Brother? As long as the dawn's journey into dusk, perhaps, or as long as my own ear? Ages ago, I was carving the moons to fit the sky, the mountains to fit the earth, canyon and crag and cliff, and you had little interest in them then. Far more fascination did the shavings hold for you, rather than the tools themselves. What are you up to, Brother Mine, and let's see what you attempt to hide from me.”

The crowd was soon howling with laughter at every lame excuse and prying question that the two brothers were trading, and Hunk was no exception. How many times had he gotten into that same situation with his own father, when he had been trying to put something illicit together in the garage? Usually with Lance helping, as he recalled, and Lance did too.

“Remember the go-cart?” Lance whispered in his ear.

“Oh, god, yes,” Hunk chortled, wiping at his eyes. “Big packing crate, four skateboards, the seats off of two old kiddie chairs, and some rockets. You never told me where you got the rockets.”

Lance grinned nostalgically. “From one of my cousins, who did model spacecraft. Big ones. It almost worked, too, even if we never found all the pieces of your dad's best screw gun, and Grandma's roses were never the same. There was this big crater--”

Hunk snorted; only time could make the consequences of that event funny, but there it was. “Yeah. Both of us got grounded for a month, and she used what was left of the cart to plant begonias in. Wow. How did we survive to adulthood again?”

Lance shrugged and leaned comfortably on his childhood friend. “Just lucky, I guess.”

Nearby, Pidge was chortling over her own early escapades in the toolshed, and could definitely relate to Kuphorosk's situation. “I had two,” she told Shiro between bursts of laughter. “Dad and Matt. I couldn't even put together a windup toy without them trying to help! If I had a project that was any bigger, they'd steal it, and then fight over it! I used to spend all my allowance on tools and parts, and then I had to hide them, and put 'secret lair' on my Christmas list for three years running.”

Shiro puffed a laugh. “Did you ever get one?”

“Not until Blue highjacked us.” Pidge paused a moment to wipe off her glasses. “Well, sort of. Matt got me a Superman 21XX Fortress of Solitude playset one year. I traded it to a classmate for a Moonbase model kit, which was a whole lot cooler. I still had to lock my door to work on it.”

Eventually, Kuphorosk managed to distract his very persistent brother by throwing a hammer that was used for causing earthquakes at a nearby volcano, and fled while Korshedrosk scrambled to catch it before it could cause a major eruption. Even so, it took him some doing before he could find a place where Korshedrosk couldn't find him. He eventually found his haven in a large cave system under the Old Forest, and there he got down to business.

“It was there in that vasty deep that Kuphorosk discovered that Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak was not only a devourer, but a thief,” Zaianne said, shooing the middle-aged gent back to his seat. “Oblivion has no business taking on the forms of Life, and yet the limb and fang bore signs of this plagiarism—bones there were beneath the not-flesh, and sinews where there should have been only crystallized void, and the fang had once been a true one. Some true-born creature had died and worse than died to furnish the Devourer with its shape. Filled with righteous rage at this atrocity, Kuphorosk did use the Divine Tools to extract what the monster had stolen. Alas, the bones, sinews, and the fang were too defiled to use, so defiled that even the God of Death found it hard to handle them. Brave Kuphorosk was undeterred, however, and took them unto the Font of Sophora, that sacred upwelling where His Great Mother had summoned the world itself into being; Creation is the antithesis of Oblivion, and there it was that He purified the bones, sinews, and fang of the Devourer.

“Alas, when they lost the taint, they lost their strength. Still undeterred, Kuphorosk then took them to the Forge of Time, where even the slightest of possibilities may become unalterable reality. There, he tempered and hardened them until nothing could weaken them again. Alas, they became dull things, hard and physical as stone, and about as useful for the purpose as a sack of gravel. Even then, Kuphorosk was undeterred, for had He not done this before, to create the Knives? Those had been for practice, He saw now, and knew that this Spear would be the greatest weapon of all. Thus did He draw in His breath, and bound them into the physical world with the Song of _Manu-Vak-Choranta_ , even as He had done with the Knife of Stone. Children, do you know that Song?”

Keith shook his head, and so did everybody else. Zaianne tutted. “No child capable of making things with their own two hands should be ignorant of that Song. Hearken, and I shall teach you.”

The song she sang was not very long, only four or five verses, but each and every word held power. The language was ancient, rough and wild, and the Paladins felt their Lions take an interest. Those sitting nearby him saw Antler Guy's antennae spread out to their fullest to catch every nuance, and the fearsome jaws opened slightly, as if to breathe the words in. They evoked thoughts of real things in the minds of the listeners, the feel of the ground underfoot, the force of the wind, the heat of the sun, the strength of the ocean. All the things that touched upon the body and left an impression in the mind.

“The pieces of the Spear now shone with the amber light of Becoming,” Zaianne continued, after a sip from her glass, “but He was not finished. Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak was not an entirely physical thing, and could escape mere physical harm. Thus did He bind the pieces into the spiritual world with the Song of _Ultara-Nash'Zakero_ , even as He had done with the Knife of Ice. Children, do you know that Song?”

Once again, there were breathless denials from the audience, and Zaianne sighed. “Honestly, what are they teaching you these days? No child capable of knowing what walks beyond the shadows should be ignorant of that Song. Hearken, and I shall teach you.”

This song was in a minor key, and evoked mental images of insubstantial things, of entities that were more thought than flesh, of whispers on the wind and movements in the shadows. It hinted at the Great Mysteries, the paths of Fate, at a future beyond one's own future, and at vast fields of probability, and power beyond imagining. Many shivered to hear it, but none would willingly turn away.

Zaianne smiled. “The pieces of the Spear now shone with the sapphire light of Passing, but Kuphorosk was not done yet. Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak was not entirely a spiritual entity, and could still escape back to the not-place from which it had originated. Thus did Kuphorosk bind the pieces into the Places Beyond with the Song of _Khorzera'Pak-Gherosh,_ even as He had done with the Knife of Shadows. Children, do you know that Song?”

And a third time, Zaianne was disappointed. “I shall have to have a stern talk with the School Board. No child capable of dreaming should be ignorant of that Song.”

This time, her voice was wild and joyous, the ancient words speaking of uncharted places, grand adventure, evils to overcome and discoveries to make; futures to seize and pitfalls to avoid, monsters to battle and glories to behold, the eternal terror and allure of the unknown.

Zaianne's voice was triumphant when she continued with the story. “The pieces of the Spear now shone with the pale, many-colored light of Epiphany, and with the echoes of the Songs still ringing about Him, the God took them back to His cave and assembled them. With the greatest of care did He carve and link the bones, melding them into one single, unbroken shaft that stood taller than He did. With exquisite skill did He set the Spearhead and bind it in place forevermore with the sinews, and when He had done, no greater weapon had there ever been, nor would there ever be—but He took it one step further. Above all other things, Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak was a destroyer; Kuphorosk called upon _Tahe Moq,_ the very Blood of Creation, to fill the Spear to its fullest, that it would become unalterably inimical to that monster and any others like it. Oh, my friends, my wondrous children, what a magnificent Spear it was. The shaft was as strong as the hearts of mountains, yet swift as a ray of light. The spearhead was so sharp that it could cut a shadow away from that which had cast it, or cut a soul from a body without harming either, and when He swung it a couple of times to get a feel for it, He sliced the wind itself into four quarters, which have yet to recombine. When He tapped the spear butt upon a slab of granite, the sound was heard around the world three times, it echoed so, and the granite burst into dust at the impact. The fires of the blood of the earth could not warm it. The ice at the ends of the earth could not chill it. The winds did not wear at it, nor did the waters, and when He raised it on high, the sun herself was forced to dodge out of the way, the moons fled and hid, and the stars withdrew to a safe distance for a week. Oh my, yes, the Devourer was in trouble now.”

There were exclamations of wonder around the room, for Lizenne's bone spear had responded to the songs in its own way. It was floating higher off the floor now, the shaft was rippling with pearly light, and the cold flame of the spearhead was bright enough to read by.

Zaianne smiled fondly at it. “As you can see, it remembers what came next. This, for all that it was made by mortal hands, is a proud echo of the true one, and it has an awareness of its own. Sit quietly, my friends, my children, and I will tell you why this is so in a little time, for now I must speak of what this little spear yearns to do more than anything else in the world. Hearken! Now that Kuphorosk had a weapon that was appropriate to the prey, He went to the hunt...”

Allura felt Keith's muscles tense, and heard his breathing speed up. His pulse hammered against her palm, and she remembered how eagerly he had pursued the yulpadi, and the look in his eyes earlier on, when he had helped to bring down that ornipal. Half-Human he might be, but the Galra blood ran deep, and Galra were predators. She also remembered how it had felt to leap from that stone onto the yulpadi's heaving back; to weaken its massive muscles so that Tilla could finish the job without getting hurt. She had felt that joy in the hunt as well, a gift from Keith through the Lion-bond, and would be eager to feel it again... particularly if there was a chance of another bowl of stew. Predator he might be, but he was one that was willing to share, and Allura was glad of the gift.

Zaianne held the entire room spellbound, the spear beside her glowing brighter and brighter as she chanted the ancient epic poem that told of the God's long hunt, and of his fury at what the creature had done to one of his favorite mountains. There in the raw, steaming crater of what would forevermore be called _Mum'NakNak-Nauma,_ the Devourer's Dinner-Plate, the God did battle with his greatest foe. How they raged and strove, each seeking to destroy each other! Zaianne described every feint and strike, the light from the spearhead throwing dramatic shadows against the wall as her hands illustrated the narrative, and the entire audience cheered when the Spear was thrust home.

“But that was not the end of Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak,” Zaianne said gravely, stifling the crowd's joy. “Not being alive, it could not precisely die, and Kuphorosk had struck it so many times with the butt of the Spear that it had created a multitude of cracks throughout its substance. It splintered into a million million pieces, most of which were contained by the God's power, and thus sublimated into nothing... but some escaped. Some escaped, for Kuphorosk was very weary, and could not hold them all. These pieces wiggled their way into the fabric of the world, to be borne along in its creatures as a beast bears parasites, and they are forever searching. Should such a fragment find an unguarded heart, it will slip deep within it, transforming that creature into a dreadful monster. Should that fragment find a suitable Galran heart, it will become something worse. Wise Kuphorosk realized His mistake, and knew that it was not within His power to reach into a living thing and extract from it that defilement; thus, he went to the Matriarchs of the People, and gave them the loan of His greatest weapon. Should they find a devouring monster among them—animal or Galran—they might invoke the Spear, and end it once and for all. All hail to the God for His guardianship and guidance, and hail to Him for permitting us to finish His great Hunt! Guard your hearts well, my friends, my children, and remember the Songs; the Hunt is not over yet, as you can see. Hail to the Spear, and may it find its rightful prey soon, for all of Creation will rejoice at the final dissolution of Tigramosh-Mum'NakNak, and the God will honor all those who aid in the Hunt.”

The crowd burst into enthusiastic applause, and Zaianne stood and bowed, and then stooped a little lower to pat the heads of a pair of cubs that had run forward to hug her legs. She straightened up with a laugh and called out, “Bedtime, bedtime all, and if you wish you may stay right here, with the Spear to guard your dreams.”

The bone spear had subsided a little, but it still glowed like polished nacre. Unsurprisingly, most of the cubs opted to stay put, nesting in piles of blankets and clambering up to join their fellows on the couches. Allura thought about getting up, but Keith still had a grip on her hand and he was already drifting off; when a small cub hauled himself up over the rim of the chair and squeaked at her, she could only welcome the child in to cuddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back when Season Two had first aired, my personal headcanon about the Mysterious Masked Galra(TM) in the Weblum was that they were either Lotor or Keith's mother. Obviously I was wrong on both counts, but Spanch and I decided to keep it for the purposes of this universe. ^_^ Who did you guys think they were when you first watched that episode?
> 
> Stay safe, healthy, and happy!


	4. Side Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this chapter, guys. One of our cats was ill, so we've been distracted. Rocket sadly passed away last night, so please think a kind thought for him if you find a moment.

Chapter 4: Side Trip

Allura woke very warm, and buried in soft fur. Soft purple fur, she noticed, and some of it snored. That first cub had been joined by at least a dozen others, who had wedged themselves in wherever they would fit. Allura made a mental note to see if there were any more of this type of chair in storage, and then tried to move; she was starting to get hungry, and needed to stretch her legs. Easier said than done, alas; even the slightest shift raised soft squeaks of protest, and a deeper grunt from Keith, who still had a grip on her hand. She could lift her head, at least, and looked around the room. Allura couldn't help but giggle. Coran was still present, snoring peacefully under his own blanket of somnolent cubs, and there were clusters and hummocks of sleeping children and the occasional parent all over the room. Hunk had gone, but Lance had a trio of boys keeping him warm, and she remembered vaguely that Shiro had carried Pidge off to her room the previous night. Erantha had gone, of course, but she could just see a pink-socked foot poking up over the rim of Kevaah's papasan, and the bone spear had simmered down to a steady, pearly gleam. It was calmer now, she felt, and had reaffirmed its purpose, but the longer her eyes rested upon it, the more her hand began to tingle. It knew her, and knew that through her actions it had tasted the blood of an Emperor, and it wanted more.

_For good reason,_ she thought. Shiro's Vision had all but spelled it out in big block letters that Zarkon was carrying a fragment of a monster within him, and that her primary goal as a Paladin and the spear's own purpose were one and the same. Allura wondered what, exactly, had inspired Lizenne to construct so fearsome an artifact, and then decided that she didn't really want to know.

Keith's hand tightened its grip on hers, and he growled faintly in his sleep, scowling slightly. Allura indulged herself by rubbing her cheek against his hair, which was only slightly less soft than the cubs' fur, and was developing streaks of deep, rich purple above the ears. Galra and Human blood did indeed cross gracefully, she thought, and wondered briefly, scandalously, if Altean blood could bridge that gap so well. Keith stretched, or tried to, and woke with a pained grunt.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Sore back,” Keith groaned, raising squeaks from their blanket of cubs as he tried to straighten out. “I forgot that these chairs aren't good to sleep in.”

“I'm just fine,” Allura said, trying to sit up, eliciting more squeaks and an irritated growl.

“You're an Altean. Hardcore. And heavy.” Keith pushed against the thick cushions, but didn't get very far. “Not that this is a bad thing. Um. Can you let go of my hand?”

Allura giggled. “You first. You've been holding onto it all night.”

“Oh.” Keith looked down at their interlaced fingers in mild consternation, as if he hadn't been aware of what his own extremity had been up to, and seemed reluctant to let go. A soft blush of pink warmed his cheeks. “Sorry. Awkward.”

“I don't mind,” she reassured him, picking their fingers apart. “Did you have good dreams?”

He yawned hugely and set about the difficult task of separating himself from both her and the sleepy cubs. “I think so. I was fighting a monster, and winning. Mom tells the best stories, huh? Oh, god, my back.”

Allura pushed herself up carefully, allowing the cluster of cubs to flow down and take over their warm spot. “Lie down on the floor,” she told him. “Zaianne taught me some of her massage techniques, back when Shiro was still recovering. I may be able to help.”

Keith slid bonelessly out of the chair to flop facedown onto a spare blanket, and she set about kneading his back. The muscles beneath his pajama top were laid out a bit differently from an Altean's, but not overly so, and it wasn't long before Keith was making happy noises into the blanket. A little time later, Hunk ambled in, wearing his apron and a happy smile, and holding a peculiar object. It looked like an iron bar that had been bent into a triangle, with a loop at the top to hold it by. Hunk then banged a large spoon against the inside angles, making a loud but not entirely unmusical sound that woke up everybody in the room.

“Hey, everybody, breakfast in ten minutes, both upstairs and down,” Hunk announced cheerfully. “Tanrook buns, lelosha wraps, hot cereals, baked paslen, and all the other good stuff. Even some fresh fruits and berries from Hydroponics. Allura, how hard and how shamelessly do I have to beg to get one of those backrubs?”

Allura smiled, and those around her laughed. “Ask me after breakfast. Come on, Keith, let's excavate Lance from his companions. I'm hungry.”

Keith muttered something that sounded grudgingly compliant, and he hauled himself to his feet with another enormous yawn. “Hunk, where did you get a dinner bell?”

“I made it,” Hunk said, patting the triangle proudly. “Traditional. One of my fondest memories is visiting Lance's aunt's farm and hearing that bell ring, so I figured that we could have one, too. Meet you guys in the dining room in ten, okay? I've just made a fresh batch of butter, and some sweet-cream biscuits to go with it.”

Both Allura and Keith perked up at that, and Allura vented a little sigh of pleasure. “I'm starting to become very fond of that cow,” she murmured.

Keith stretched out his shoulders with a grunt. “You're not alone. A lot of ancient Human civilizations used to worship cows, and some still do. They're work, but they're worth it.”

Lured by the prospect of hot buttered biscuits, Lance was already working his way free of his companions, so Keith took a moment to check on the papasan in the corner. Within that padded bowl, he found Kevaah curled up and lying very still, half-buried in sleepy cubs. He was awake, his eyes distant as he stroked a smug-looking girl-cub, and his expression was one of gentle wonder.

“Hi,” Keith said, reaching in to scratch the little girl's ruff. “Need some help?”

Kevaah breathed a long sigh and nuzzled at the child in his arms. She swatted playfully at his nose, and he smiled. “I am receiving it already,” he murmured mysteriously. “Ah, gods, this is wonderful. It is not like huddling with my brothers. I have not woken so well before. Where is the Hoshinthra?”

Surprised, Keith looked around. “Antler Guy's right over there, with some cubs trying to chew on his legs. They're not having much luck, and he looks confused.”

Kevaah laughed. “Remind me to thank his mother. What are 'biscuits', and what is 'butter'?”

“Delicious,” Keith said, picking up a cub who was gnawing thoughtfully on Kevaah's pink sock. “Come on, I'll show you.”

There was a squawk from the green couch, and a cry of “Help! Help! I'm drowning in purple fur!”

Keith and Kevaah looked around to see that Lance and the three boys were wrestling, with Lance trying to get up and the boys trying to drag him back. Shiro and Allura went to help him, grabbing him by the arms and lifting him both off of the couch and off of his feet, so that the boy-cubs dripped off of him with squeals of laughter onto the layers of blankets on the floor. Lance looked back and forth between his rescuers with an embarrassed smile, and down at his dangling toes.

“Thanks... um.” Lance blushed slightly and muttered, “This shouldn't be as much as a turn-on as it is. No fair being sexily strong this early in the morning.”

Shiro's eyebrows lifted, but he smiled in return. “Well, we could just let the fuzzy purple carpet sharks have you.”

Evil giggles drifted up from below, and Lance snorted. “Nah, I want breakfast. Hey, kids, smell that? Your uncle Hunk is frying sausages.”

There was indeed a savory scent wafting through the open doors, and the boys hopped up and trotted away to seek the source of it, allowing Shiro and Allura to put Lance down. Lance watched them go with a soft expression on his face that Allura had never seen in him before. “You're growing very fond of them, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” Lance sighed. “I grew up in a mob of kids like this, Allura. My family isn't Galra-big, but it's pretty big, and I've missed that. They aren't Human, but they're filling a lot of the same holes in my life, if you know what I mean. Oh, hey, Keith, you too? Oops, and Kevaah.”

Keith had two small cubs in his arms, and four others were clinging to Kevaah's arms and shirt. The girl-cub was sitting on his shoulders, her little hands gripping his ears, and she was squeaking loudly for her breakfast.

“You could say that,” Keith said, bouncing his passengers gently. “Come on, guys, we'd better get them fed before she pulls his ears off.”

“Nah, she's just trying to get him in gear, so she can steer him to the kitchen,” Lance said, plucking a noisy cub off of Kevaah's elbow. “One of my cousins used to do that with her dad when she was that age.”

Kevaah smiled, rearranging the three remaining cubs. “When there are sausages to be had, there can be only one destination. She may steer flagships in the future. Sausages will help her to achieve this.”

“Logic,” Allura said. “Roundabout, but logic all the same. Very well then, we will get our little flagship captain there some sausages.”

“ _Aaaaiieeep!”_ the girl-cub agreed, pummeling Kevaah's collarbones with her heels to get him moving.

“Any luck?” Tenric asked his nephew, who was flat on the floor and had thrust his arm up to the elbow in an industrial-grade fabricator; the only reason that he wasn't in it up to the shoulder was that the joint couldn't fit through the tiny service hatch.

“No,” Kerebar grunted, and pulled his arm out. “It's completely out of reach. I don't understand. Alteans are narrow-built, but not _that_ narrow. Did they use drones for this work? At this rate, we'll have to unbolt the entire housing, and I'm not sure that even that would help much.”

Tenric leaned back against the inactive terminal with a tired grunt. This ship was a beautiful old vessel, and one of the most elegant and efficient craft that he'd ever had the privilege of working on... except for one single thing. It was damned near impossible to do any physical maintenance on anything in it without spending a half-hour stripping it naked first. “If they used drones, we haven't found them yet. Believe me, we've tried. Chanshur and his boys have scoured every last parts storage room, and there's nary a one. We did find a hidden 'still, of course, but you'll find those on any craft large enough.”

Kerebar chuckled. “Got that right. Built a few myself, actually. You've got to have the horath for polishing those drive coils. But really, no drones? What were they using, then?”

Tenric shook his head, completely mystified. “Got me. Might have been interns with long, skinny arms, or maybe they had long-handled grabbers—we haven't found any of those either, by the way. Or maybe--”

“ _Eeek!”_ squeaked something nearby, making them both jump.

Sitting on one end of the fabricator was a tiny creature, pale pink with bright garnet eyes, round ears, and a long, thin tail. It whiffled its whiskers at them and squeaked again.

“What's that?” Kerebar asked.

Tenric hummed thoughtfully. “One of the Princess's pets, I think. Modhri mentioned something about that. He said that they were smarter than they looked. This is the first time I've seen one.”

Kerebar smiled. “Not surprising. It's not safe for them with so many cubs around. What are they called?”

“'Mice', I think. Altean ship's mice.” Tenric bent down to have a closer look at the tiny creature. “Yeah, I can see why they'd want these little fellows around. They'd probably do well as pest-control agents—chisel teeth, see? If they've got grinding teeth behind the incisors, they'd be omnivores. They'd go for bugs, some of the more mobile fungoids and weeds, maybe even smaller mammaloids or reptiloids. Look at the forepaws, too, they're like tiny hands.”

Kerebar pushed himself up onto his knees for a better look. “You're right, and I'll swear that the thumb's opposable. A little short in the digits, but that's natural for a quadruped. Good ears, too, and good eyes, nice whiskers, probably got a good sense of smell, and the tail's aces for balance. Think it might be prehensile?”

“Might be,” Tenric said, straightening up. “Round skull, too. Plenty of room for brains, see? I'll bet that...”

He trailed off, his eyes going to the tiny service hatch, then back to the mouse. There were times when huge problems and serendipitous occurrences added up to unexpected answers, and this was one of them. Putting on his politest smile, he nodded to the little pink mouse. “Excuse me, sir or madam,” he said gently, “this machine is out of order due to a small part coming adrift, and we can't reach it. Would you mind?”

The mouse squeaked agreeably and scampered down the contours of the fabricator—contours that had been specifically designed to furnish the creature with a way to access all areas of the thing—and slipped in through the hatch with no trouble at all. A minute or two later, the fabricator hummed into life, and the mouse exited with a triumphant squeak.

“Oh. Well, that makes sense,” Kerebar said, and offered his hand to the mouse, who climbed aboard. “That's very clever. I'll bet that this arrangement used to give saboteurs absolute fits. Thank you very much, my friend. How many others of your kind are there aboard?”

The pink mouse chirped and held up a tiny paw, three fingers extended.

Tenric sighed. “Four of them. Well, it's a start. Far too few to look after a ship this size, though. You'd think there'd be more.”

Kerebar transferred the mouse to his shoulder and stood up. “They might not have had time to go and get more. Altea's long gone, along with its colony worlds. There might be some hanging on in other places, but the Emperor's been hounding the Paladins hard. We can always ask.”

Tenric nodded. “Our shift's about over, anyway, and the Princess did say that we could bring our problems to the bridge. Might as well test that, eh? Work would go a lot more efficiently if we had eight or nine hundred more of those little lads aboard to help out.”

“ _Eeeek!”_ the mouse said, nodding vigorously.

“Let's go then,” Kerebar said, and, pausing only to clean up their tools and put them away, the two techs headed toward the lifts.

They were in luck, they found when they had reached the control center of the Castle; the ship was in orbit at the moment, a glory of stars on the screens, the slender, white-haired Altean woman was standing proudly on the pilot's dais, the huge Balmeran crystal glinting above her head, and her countryman was well-ensconced in the console before it. There was a good deal of variation in the race, Tenric thought, from the nut-brown skin to the orange hair, and he was sorry that these were the only two of their kind left. They were an attractive people, lean and strong, and just enough like Galra to be described as beautiful.

“Sorry to bother you, Princess, sir,” Kerebar said respectfully, “but you said we could come up if there was a problem.”

“I did,” the Princess said, turning to face them. “Is there one?”

“Yes, Princess,” Tenric said, “not a major one, but one nonetheless. All of the guts of the ship have these tiny little maintenance hatches, right? They're built for the mice, not for anything bigger.”

“Well spotted, old chap!” the orange-haired man said with a cheery grin. “I'll have you know that Zarkon himself spent twenty-seven years toddling around this very Castle, and he never caught on. So?”

“You've only the four mice, sir,” Kerebar said, boggling a little at the thought of Zarkon toddling anywhere. “That isn't enough, not by a long shot. Everything's well-designed, but if something important and fiddly breaks and these little fellows aren't around to help, we're in trouble. We need more. Is there anywhere that might have some to spare?”

The orange-haired man thumped the heel of his hand against the side of his head. “I knew that I was forgetting something. Allura, he's right. He's absolutely right, as a matter of fact. Did you ever find out just where Brock had found them?”

“No,” the Princess said, sounding surprised. “I never got around to it. There was so much to do, and we were all so tired... He's still on the _Quandary_ , isn't he? With Arax.”

“Last I checked, yes,” the man said, his fingers dancing over the controls. “They'd tucked themselves right in with the crew, I believe. Brock apparently knows how to make good horath, which is an important life skill. Pop-Pop did too, although he preferred distilled numvill, and invented a compact little device that could make both at once. Quite a frightening array, it was, and made noises at night that had half of the maintenance staff convinced that the drive deck was haunted. There was a bit of an upset once when he accidentally mixed up the feed lines when re-piping the thing, but it turned out for the best. The Rejolian Delegate was in an absolute swoon over the resulting liquor, and that won us such a good trade status with them that old Angbard—that's Allura's grandfather—didn't get upset about the cost of replacing the wall and floor plating. Started up a whole new branch of the distilled-beverages industry, too. His wife wouldn't allow any of it in the house, though. She could be a terrible spoilsport at times.”

“Grandmother preferred fruit drinks,” Allura said. “Where is the _Quandary_ now, Coran?”

“I'm trying to find that out,” Coran replied. “For a ship that big, it can really get around—whoops!”

Suddenly, a patch of nearby space warped and twisted, and the great ship was simply  _there._ Tenric drew in a long, awed breath. “Sikkhoran Grand Freighter,” he murmured to his nephew, who was staring in unabashed amazement at the gigantic ship. “Reconfigured for heavy combat. That really is the  _Osric's Quandary,_ isn't it? I used to hear tales told of that old hulk when I was a trainee, and that it was a lucky ship.”

“Very much so,” Allura told him, “four hundred-odd decaphebes of not being shot to pieces by angry Imperial warship captains must count for something. Greetings, _Quandary,_ is all well?”

A window popped up on the screen, showing the face of a tired-looking Vontakle.  _“Could be better, could be worse, Princess. We can't stay long—there are something like twenty or so colony worlds scattered over three Fringe Sectors that have lost most of their Garrison fleets. The good news is that we could knock them over with a well-aimed smofball. The bad news is that so can anyone else. Yantilee's been playing the Fleet's forces like a concert-grade chalagar organ, trying to keep things from becoming a total free-for-all. We've had to deal with two ship-clans of Gantarash so far, and that's just the beginning.”_

“Oh, dear,” Allura said, “Will Yantilee need our help, Kezz?”

The Vontakle waggled a hand. _“Not just yet. You're still our secret weapon, and we're managing, so far. There have been a bunch of uprisings on those unguarded planets, some bloodier than others. We've had to stop some nasty reprisals, and some invasions by neighboring opportunists. There have also been a bunch of slave raids.”_

Coran frowned. “Ortakans?”

Kezz gestured a negative. _“Not yet. Ortakans are wary, and they prefer to let other people take the risks before they join in. The ones we stopped were mostly Jikaru, Gurthans, Upsullites, and P'Yinc, plus some rogues from just about everywhere else. It won't be long before the Ortakans get in on the action, though. We're here to stock up on necessities and run, though we're told that you've got a new Hoshinthra representative for us.”_

“We do,” Allura told him. “Pidge has named him Antler Guy, and he is quite young and eager to learn. I warn you, his mother does keep a close watch on him, and is liable to venture her own opinions.”

Kezz rolled his eyes. _“So long as they don't bite anyone important, that's fine. I'll tell you, we wouldn't have been able to handle all of this without them, but Shussshorim's a nightmare and wants everyone to know it. How's Varda doing, by the way?”_

Coran smiled. “She's in tip-top shape as always, just repatriated a sacred artifact a few days ago, and now we're up to our ears in Modhri's relatives. Not taking on any new crew at the moment, are you?”

“ _No, we're fully-staffed,”_ Kezz said. _“Why?”_

“Some of them may want to join you later on,” Coran fingered his mustache, giving the Vontakle a penetrating look. “Also, you wouldn't still happen to have Sergeant Brock about, would you, or his lad Arax?”

Kezz snorted. _“Are you kidding? That old man brews the best warp-coil cleaner that isn't actually distilled lithro, and can field-strip and reassemble a Binthric triple-bore plasma-arc cannon in five minutes flat. The dockjocks are keeping him. As for the other guy, he's been helping Doc in the clinic. Something about an obligation. Either way, Doc's not letting him go anywhere either.”_

“Music to my ears, my friend,” Coran replied cheerfully. “We'd like to have a chat with them, if you would— Brock knows a thing or two about a particular planet that we've been dying to ask him about, but never had the time.”

Kezz nodded. _“Sure, I'll call them up here. I'm not actually allowed to let them leave the ship. Sorry, but our guys are worried that if they set one foot on the Castle again, you'll vanish on another adventure and it'll be months before we get them back.”_

Allura laughed. “With good reason! Please do, and thank you, Kezz. If you send a transport shuttle over, we'll have Antler Guy aboard it directly.”

Kezz made a grateful gesture.  _“Thanks, Princess. Sorry for the rush, but time really is of the essence right now.”_

“I understand,” Allura assured him. “Pidge will no doubt be disappointed to have missed you, but I expect that we'll meet up again soon. Do not hesitate to call us if you need us.”

Kezz smiled.  _“The feeling's mutual, Princess. All right, Brock and Arax are on their way, just give them a minute. And the shuttle, too. Osric's a fine old ship, but he's bigger than most.”_

That did take some time, and Coran used it to contact Antler Guy and to tell him that he had a ride coming; it was interesting to watch the small passenger shuttle flitting toward them out of the stream of heavy freight shuttles rising from and descending to the planet's surface, dock briefly, and then rush away, traveling far faster than it had before. Not that Allura could blame them. Hoshinthra were very unsettling in close quarters, even a Hoshinthra as young and personable as Antler Guy was. The shuttle had just disappeared around the _Quandary's_ vast hull when a window popped up on the screens again, showing two familiar figures.

They looked better, Allura thought, observing the two Galra men. Happier, certainly, and much more relaxed. Someone had even found them clothing appropriate to their work; Brock looked far more comfortable in his grease-stained mechanic's coverall than he had in his armor. Arax seemed equally at ease in the pale-blue shirt and trousers of a medical assistant, and they both smiled to see her.

“ _Well, hello, m'Lady,”_ Brock said, _“Kezz says you've got something to ask us?”_

“I do,” Allura replied. “I need the location of that planet you visited, the one with the mice.”

Brock frowned, his bushy brows bristling. _“Yeah, I figured you'd get back to me about that sooner or later. You sure, Princess? Your little squeakers are pretty civilized, but it's been a long time for the rest. They'd pretty much gone feral, and that was before Corporal Vorik took a shot at one.”_

Coran nodded understandingly. “It's a bred-in tendency. You should have seen what ours did to a marauding squad of Gantarash. They are small, but adorably fierce! Now, the coordinates, if you please, sir.”

Brock sighed. _“Can't give you exact coords, sorry. Captain was High House and didn't want us lesser types up on the bridge with him. I know for sure that it was in this Galaxy, though. Minari Sector, second Quadrant, third star from the right in the Edecor Constellation, if you're coming at it from the Hubward side. Middling-sized green star, thirteen planets. Three... no, four inner planets, little and rocky and too close to the sun to be worth looking at. Fifth out is the one you want, that's a whacking great orange gas giant, almost but not quite big enough to become a star. It's got a big clutch of moons in stable orbits, just like a miniature solar system, and some of them are live, with little oceans and everything. You want the one with the ring-shaped continent in the southern hemisphere.”_

“Ring-shaped?” Allura asked curiously.

“ _Ring-shaped,”_ Brock repeated firmly. _“It's actually a sort of roundish landmass with a really big crater lake in the middle. A big comet or something hit it dead center a billion years ago, more or less, and the hole it made is now an inland sea. It's actually kind of pretty there, and there was some sort of structure on the eastern shore that might have been a starship wreck. We didn't have the time to check it out. Will that do?”_

“Admirably, Sergeant,” Allura said with a smile. “How are you two doing, by the way? Are the crew treating you well?”

Arax shook his head wonderingly. _“Better than we had any right to hope, m'Lady. We're being watched, of course, but nobody's hassling us. Sarge has made a bunch of friends already, and I... well, tell Lance that he's still my hero, okay? I'm working with Doc now, to make up for what happened earlier, on that Ghamparva station. I like it, I'm helping, and Doc says that I've got potential. That's more than I ever got in the Military.”_

Coran nodded understandingly. “Hunk did mention that you'd been sold to them. Disgusting practice, that.”

Arax gave him a twisted little smile. _“Maybe, but it's good for getting rid of surplus sons. Oh, gotta go—Haswick says that the resupply's done and Yantilee's got business elsewhere.”_

“Goodbye, then, and good luck,” Allura told them, and sighed when the connection broke.

Tenric scratched thoughtfully at his chin in the ensuing silence. “Is it just me, or have those pirates stolen the whole Coalition thing from you? What little outside information we got while working at Nelargo suggested that you were leading the whole rebellion.”

Allura puffed a rueful laugh. “Thankfully, no. Yantilee, the Halidexan royal family, the Blade of Marmora, and a number of other people are handling that end of things for us. We make the Coalition possible, but we don't run it.”

“We can't, not really,” Coran said, leaning back on his console. “Allura here's the only one aboard trained in statecraft, but that training was cut short when Zarkon blew up the planet. Heroism's all very well and good, that's what Voltron's for, but don't ask us to do the paperwork. The Paladins were never intended to govern what they defended. Voltron was built for the sole purpose of dealing with those things that couldn't be handled conventionally. Giant space monsters, alien invasions, natural disasters, unnatural disasters, evil overlords, things like that. Exciting, energetic, strenuous duty that would frighten the wits out of any ordinary politician. Heroes make terrible governors most of the time, anyway.”

Kerebar gave them a perplexed look. “We're told that Zarkon was a Paladin, once.”

“Yes,” Allura replied grimly, “and look what he has done to the Empire. Was there anything else?”

Tenric dipped a respectful bow. “No, m'Lady, that was all.”

“Thank you,” she said, and turned back to the screens, where a vast ship had been and gone.

The two techs took that for the dismissal that it was, and made their way back toward the lift. Kerebar vented a soft humph and patted the mouse on his shoulder. “She isn't wrong,” he murmured to his uncle, “and neither is Coran.”

Tenric frowned, but nodded. “At least they're willing to admit it, and to leave the work in the hands of those who know how to do it. A lot of our own history was made by the ones who wouldn't, and they usually made a mess of everything they'd fought to gain.”

Kerebar nodded. “We'll want to tell Lelannis about this.”

“Yes,” Tenric agreed.

“ _Eeeek!”_ the mouse added, making the two men smile.

The Paladins stared in mild awe at the screens, which were showing one of the Universe's hidden gems. Even as Sergeant Brock had said, the gas giant was indeed very large and very orange, but he had neglected to mention how beautiful the planet and its little companions were. The gas giant itself was magnificent, banded in fiery colors that ranged from a delicate apricot to a fearsome burnt ocher, with intricate, swirling storm bands touched with charcoal and dusty purple. Orbiting the swollen orb were numerous large, dense moons that were almost big enough to be called planets in their own right, and no less than six of them showed obvious signs of life. Blue seas glimmered through shimmering atmospheres, sporting neat polar caps and surrounding continents and islands rich with vegetation.

“Nice,” Hunk said appreciatively. “It looks like a big mama Jupiter with a bunch of baby Earths. So, which one are we looking for again?”

“The one with a ring-shaped continent in the southern hemisphere,” Allura reminded him. “It will have an inland sea, and I want a look at the eastern shore. Brock mentioned a possible shipwreck, and it may be the ship that brought the mice there to begin with. I don't expect to find Altean survivors, but...”

The others heard the brittle note in her voice, and looked up at her in sympathy. “We can hope,” Shiro said gently. “At least we know that the mice survived, and even thrived here. If nothing else, the ship might still have some useful information, and if the storage holds are still intact, we may find something worth salvaging.”

“A little too much like grave robbing, that,” Coran said disapprovingly, and then humphed. “On the other hand, it's been a long time, and they probably wouldn't mind.”

“Gotta find it first, though,” Lance said, eyeing an Earthlike orb. “Not that one. It's got a huge volcano building a whole new island down there.”

Keith smiled at the distant, smoking cone, one in a string of many lush volcanic islands. “Geology in action. Welcome to Space Hawaii, Hunk.”

Hunk made a face. “Say that to me when it's cooled down some, and there are space luaus there so we can dress up in space-grass skirts and eat roast space pork. Okay, how about that one?”

Coran and Allura had set the Castle on a course that wove around and between the little worlds, allowing them a full view of each one. Keith frowned at number two. “Nope. That one's just got a bunch of big islands and micro-continents. I see a lot of little lakes and rivers, but no inland seas.”

“Well, here comes number three,” Lance said, and then scowled at the image. “Ick. What's all that green stuff at the equator? It looks like a gigantic booger.”

The third planetoid was smaller, its orbit closer in, and its landmasses were small and mountainous. The seas, on the other hand, were thick with enormous areas of gelatinous green, particularly around the warmest regions. Pidge, who had been sulking about missing the chance to talk to her friends aboard the  _Quandary,_ looked up and sniffed disdainfully. “It's probably something like a big algae bloom, or maybe a fungal growth, or maybe they're like the big goobers that I have to live with. You really could've called me, Allura.”

“They were only there for about twenty doboshes, Pidge,” Allura said patiently. “Kezz had no time to chat, and I never even saw Haswick or Yantilee. Besides, you were fast asleep at the time, and you don't sleep enough as it is. All right, not that one. Well, here comes number four.”

The fourth planetoid wasn't the right one either, although the continent-wide jungles were beautiful, with long, long sandy beaches and shining lagoons that made Lance sigh yearningly. “I want that one, guys,” he said, jabbing a finger at the view. “I want my own tropical paradise. I  _deserve_ my own private tropical paradise. Coran, bookmark this place for future beach parties, all right? It's mine.”

“Are you sure about that, Lance?” Shiro asked, indicating a spot of sudden activity along one coastline, where a sizable group of very large sea creatures had surfaced. “You might have more company there than you might like.”

Coran obligingly zoomed in, revealing the local equivalent of Earth's whales. They were slimmer and more streamlined than Earthly cetaceans, a brilliant aquamarine in color, veined with gold along their huge backs, and they were enormous. “Holy crow,” Lance said, staring. “They've got to be... what, a hundred feet long? Even the biggest whales back home— _what the heck?”_

They were changing shape; the sea around the creatures churned as tons of water were expelled from ballast chambers, leaving them more serpentine than whale-like. The golden markings on their backs weren't veins, but enormous glassy wings, something like a cross between a bird's and a dragonfly's. In a shower of prismatic droplets, those huge wings began to beat in powerful strokes, and the Paladins watched in amazement as a flock of impossible beasts rose gracefully into the air and flew off into the jungle.

Pidge nudged Lance in the ribs. “Still want that one for your own private paradise?”

Lance swallowed hard, staring greedily at the graceful fliers. “Oh, heck yeah. I will find a whale-fairy puppy and feed it and raise it and call it George. We will be best friends forever, and all of my brothers and sisters and cousins will want one too, but they can't have any because they aren't space heroes.”

Allura giggled, but steered the Castle away from those long beaches. “Perhaps later, Lance. We don't have room in the Castle for one of those. Honestly, what is this attraction you have to oversized monsters?”

Lance crossed his arms with a petulant pout. “When I was six, I decided that I wanted a pet whale shark. I put a whale shark on all of my wish lists for years, but I never got a whale shark. I still want one, but if I can't have one, I'll take anything I can get. Like Doodlebug, or a whale-fairy.”

“Noted and logged,” Coran said cheerfully. “Oh, don't look at me like that, Princess, you should've seen what Gyrgan got up to when he could steal a bit of time at home. He was a man of some considerable rank, and owned a thoom ranch. Yes, that grand old fellow bred the best riding thooms in the entire region, won regularly at championships, and even permitted me to race against him once in the Autumn Thurkle Follies. Grand beasts, thooms. Very large, rather beetle-like, but they had the prettiest chitin and were quite cuddly when approached properly. Who's to say those big lads down there aren't the same?”

“Yeah, or they might...” Keith stopped mid-taunt and stared. “Oh, wow.”

Allura had brought them into the near orbits of the fifth planetoid now, and the ring-shaped southern continent was rolling into view. It was the largest of the six and had the densest atmosphere, with auroral fires lighting up the sky near the poles. It had three continents thick with native growth and magnificent cobalt-blue oceans dotted with island chains, but what got everyone's attention was the huge, almost perfectly circular inland sea on the largest landmass. That it was a massive crater lake was very plain, right down to the heavily-eroded rock ridge that rimmed it. Those had once been mountains, but they had been worn down by time and weather into a series of rumpled, rolling hills, heavily forested in spots, but there was one area on the eastern shore that looked different from everywhere else. Something very large had come down right on the rim, blasting a neat notch in that perfect circle, and now lay half-submerged in the water. In the little cup of a valley nearby, the vegetation looked very different from that of its neighbors. Even as Coran magnified the image, they could see that those growths weren't native. They were the wrong shape, and the wrong color, and even the way they moved in the wind was strange.

Only to the Humans, as it turned out; Coran gasped and pointed at a particularly tall treelike growth. “That's a prethinca hardwood! The southeastern cultivar that the Gastaper Biologic Center was working on for the colony worlds, or I'm a furblit's uncle! And there, in that upland meadow, those are juniberries! And over there, those are auphrast bushes. And those clusters of round things, those have to be mittletret rock-melons, and it's a good thing that the patent office was blown to bits ten thousand years ago because that's the giant variety, and those were a proprietary breed. They _did_ land here!”

“That's not all that they did,” Shiro said grimly, raising a hand to point at a spot between the shipwreck and a low escarpment. “There was a settlement there. For a while, at least.”

He was entirely right, they saw. While Alteans preferred a more freeform arrangement for their habitations than the standard Human grid pattern, the signs of occupancy were very plain, even after so long. The settlement had been fairly large, but not big enough to be called a city, and the round shapes of domed buildings poked up out of the surrounding vegetation like mushrooms. Roads meandered among them like serpent trails, and the vague outlines of what might have been cropland and orchards still showed along a nearby river.

Coran hummed and said in a subdued voice, “That'll probably be where the mice are the thickest, then. They're adaptable little fellows, but they'll have wanted to stay where the food was. Ah, there, see that? North a ways, on that little highland. Looks like... yes. That's a standard Galra campsite, or it was. You can still see the force-screen pylons on the perimeter, and that thing there is most of a troop lander. That's likely to be where Brock and his troops fell afoul of the mice.”

Hunk frowned. “Yeah. That's pretty far outside their valley, so they can probably eat some of the native stuff. I'll want to take samples. Brock did say that some things there were edible, and there's still some room in Hydroponics.”

“Good,” Allura said sharply, her eyes on the ruins. “Whatever happens, I will want to check out that wreck. If there is any chance at all of survivors, or even messages left by them, I will need to know for sure. I will also want to take samples of the Altean growths there, so that--” her voice broke, and she had to blink and swallow hard before continuing. “So that not everything might be lost.”

Nobody was willing to argue with that. “We'll take the Lions,” Pidge said quietly, “and we'll run a decontam sequence on them and on us before we go down, just to reduce any chance of contamination. We don't know what ended that town—I didn't see any signs of violence, but I didn't see a graveyard, either. That could mean a bunch of things, and most of them aren't good. We'll have to be careful.”

Allura shuddered, but conceded the point. “You're right. We will ask the mice first. If anyone knows what happened, they will. If nothing else, we can ask their permission to do a brief investigation. We'll want to bring our own mice, of course, and possibly a dragon. _Chimera,_ do you copy any of this?”

“ _Chimera and the Castle have graciously permitted me to listen in, yes,”_ Modhri's voice came in over the comm, with a slightly tinny overtone and no image, which was a little unusual, _“although I am sorry to say that the dragons will have to sit this one out. They and Lizenne are currently hunting with my parents and a few other lucky people in the envirodeck, and must not be disturbed. I am aware that this must seem trivial to you, but believe me, it is not.”_

“I'm surprised that you aren't in there with them,” Keith commented.

There was a rueful chuckle from the Hanifor ship. _“It was decided that whatever they caught would be prepared in a civilized setting, it being a little too rainy in there for a cookout right now. The reason that this is an audio-only transmission is that I'm having to use the kitchen's comm, which is a bit rudimentary. Hanifors are excellent scientists, but they have some odd culinary taboos. Chimera tells me that they're currently trying to outmaneuver a belenna, which are smallish but very dangerous.”_

Hunk pouted. “When will we get a turn in there?”

“ _Very soon,”_ Modhri reassured them. _“Everything is going very well—better than we had any right to expect, actually. Another few days at most, and we will be able to pass freely between ships again. I am more grateful than you could ever know for your patience and forbearance.”_

Shiro frowned at the console's comm. “Doesn't bringing Tzairona home count for anything?”

Modhri sighed. _“It counts for a very great deal. There have been other instances in our history where a powerful House has indentured a lesser House, usually for only a few decades; I believe that the longest other than ours was about one hundred and thirty-eight years. It was generally a way to work off a major debt or to atone for certain types of crime, or even for the protection of the lesser House against ruthless enemies. Never before has the dominant House held another for so long, or had such total control over it, I'm afraid; there are a number of very ancient laws stating that if the dominant House abuses the subordinate one during the period of indenture, then the subordinate House may seek revenge on those who wronged them once the indenture is up. My mother would be within her rights to kill Lizenne, and Zaianne as well.”_

“ _What?”_ Keith blurted over the cries of protest from the others, “but they didn't do anything! Lizenne saved your life!”

“ _She knows that, Keith.”_ There was a clank that sounded like a frying pan being put down on a cooktop with slightly more force than necessary. _“Mother also knows that her people's absence from Ghurap'Han's holdings will be a perfectly adequate revenge, essentially starving the greater House to death. Lizenne freed Zandrus's ghost at Tzairona's request, and has been exquisitely polite ever since. She is absolutely determined to get things off on the right foot this time, and I must help her in any way that I can. We want a proper three-way Pack Alliance between Khorex'Var, Ghurap'Han, and the Voltron Force, and that cannot happen if the Matriarchs are at each others' throats.”_

“And what is our part in all of this?” Allura asked anxiously, chagrined at having missed the delicate politics that had been going on right under her nose.

“ _It's a little tricky to explain,”_ Modhri said carefully. _“Lizenne might have been playing the acting Matriarch for our little group since shortly after we joined up with you—you are definitely Matriarch material, Allura, but you're far too young to hold that post—but as a member of Ghurap'Han, even one declared dead and in exile, she cannot hold that authority over the Castle while Khorex'Var is in residence. As the junior Matriarch, you have very generously accepted the responsibility of accommodating, feeding, and protecting the displaced House while the two senior Matriarchs hammer out an agreement that will serve everybody equally. So far, we've all been doing very well, and... ah. Ye gods, that's a big one.”_

“What happened, Modhri?” Allura demanded.

Modhri chuckled, sounding relieved. _“The hunt was a success, which is a very good thing. It is impossible to take even a small belenna without good teamwork, and they've just brought down the biggest one I've ever seen. Go and talk to the mice, Allura. I don't doubt that the negotiations between your mice and those wild ones down there will be just as delicate as my wife's and my mother's, and will be just as important.”_

Coran smiled. “Neither do I, and no doubt that there will be a few surprises awaiting us in that spot of archaeology that we're planning as well. Shall I ask Zaianne to come up and hold the fort for us, Princess?”

“And perhaps Erantha as well.” Allura nodded and turned to the others. “All right, team, let's do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those super-tiny access panels are canon, and there is no way you'll ever be able to convince us that the castle was not designed to have mice do the maintenance.


	5. Remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes up for everyone who needs a little bit of distraction today. Everyone who goes out to vote today, please make sure to stay safe and take care of yourselves.
> 
> That said, this chapter is long and rather darker than usual. Spanch and I feel that some warnings are in order.  
> Trigger Warnings for talk and description of generational environmental poisoning and the results of inbreeding, as well as illness stemming from an unknown source, and the death of an entire population. We wrote this particular chapter before Covid, but considering how serious that's become, this chapter might be disturbing to some readers. Please use caution when reading this and don't risk your mental health if it's too much for you today. Also, if I missed anything else that might deserve a warning, please tell me. Thank you.

Chapter 5: Remains

“Helmets on and visors up, people,” Shiro said, and the others complied instantly.

Pidge's warning about what might have destroyed the settlement had hit home, and it was with great care that they brought the Lions down toward a small patch of reasonably bare rock atop the low escarpment that separated the inland sea from the Altean valley. As they had noted before, Alteans were an incredibly tough and resourceful bunch. That they had vanished apparently without a fight was very worrying. From here, they could see both the wreck and the remains of the settlement clearly, and Pidge lost no time in running a few scans.

“Anything we should know about?” Keith asked.

“No life signs in the wreck, other than small stuff that might be mice, or might be local bugs and things,” Pidge reported. “Nothing us-sized anywhere near here, in fact. Sorry, Allura.”

There was a sigh from the black Lion. “That isn't entirely surprising. Can you see any reason for the abandonment of the town?”

Pidge frowned at her instruments and ran a deeper scan. “Not really. Like we saw before, there aren't any signs of violence or deliberate destruction. It's like they just picked up and left. They were doing okay here, the land's fertile and their food crops are still growing all over the place. That tells me that there might have been a rescue... or a plague. They just aren't here anymore.”

“ _She's right,”_ Zaianne said from the Castle's bridge. _“I'm running scans up here, and there are no signs of any other settlements. Furthermore, that town has been uninhabited for approximately seven thousand years, possibly more than that, to judge from the level of soil buildup over the structures. Those, at least, are still intact; Alteans build to last.”_

“And the ship?” Allura asked.

“Still holding together,” Pidge said, shifting her focus. “The drive section hit the water first, which is why the ship's still mostly in one piece. It's dead, though. I'm not getting any energy signatures from it at all, and it's possible that their crystal may have cracked. There are still... yeah. They've still got some pod shuttles, and they might be salvageable. Cargo holds are empty, no surprise there... oh. There is one that has something in it, looks like the main hold, but I'm not sure what it's got in it. We'll want to take along a power pack and see if the data storage is still intact, too.”

“Way ahead of you, Pidge,” Hunk said, swinging wide to circle the ruined ship. “I've got three, and we can use the Lions to help out if that isn't enough. Yeah. Wow. No way they could have gotten this thing back into orbit after it wrecked. If you look at it from this angle, you can see where some jerk hit them with an ion blast, right across the drive section, and the landing was a bad one. That crater lake was punched out of solid granite bedrock, guys, and hitting it cracked the whole back end of the ship wide open. Even if that had happened in orbit, they would've had to junk the ship and get a new one.”

“No chance of that, what with everyone scattering to the wind like they did,” Coran put in, “or being rounded up and marooned on Quolothis. I believe that we did have a few allies who had explored out in this direction, and they might just have answered a distress beacon, but we won't know for sure until we look. Before that happens, we'll need to talk to the locals. Isn't that right, lads?”

There was a chorus of eager squeaks and chitters from the mice that made everyone smile; they, at least, had someone to greet here.

Assuming, of course, that anyone showed up to be greeted. Up here on the rocky escarpment, it was barren, windy, and apparently uninhabited. Undaunted, for all that her eyes kept straying toward the looming ruin of the ancient ship, Allura stepped forward with her mice, each one dressed in the armor they had fought the Gantarash in, holding them cupped in her outstretched hands. Platt took a deep breath and began to squeak loudly through his suit's speakers, the thin, high-pitched noises bouncing off of the rocks and echoing away down into the lowlands. They waited for a few minutes, but nothing happened.

“Down in the valley, perhaps?” Allura suggested, her eyes drifting to the distant hummocks and gullies of the abandoned town.

“ _Eek,”_ Platt admitted, and pointed to a nearby track.

Allura set the mice down and they scampered away, leading them down what had once been a broad, meandering path that had climbed the slope in a series of easy hairpin turns, prompting Pidge to suggest that the flat area on top might have once served as a stellar observatory, or perhaps a landing field for small atmospheric craft. It was possible, the others agreed, but not certain; it had been far too long to tell easily, and they didn't have time for a full archaeological dig.

At the bottom of the path was a small, circular meadow that led out into a wide, open field. The mice paused to squeak loudly again, this time at some length, and with better results. The first indication that they had been heard was the unmistakably creepy feeling of being  _watched,_ and there were ominous rustles of small strange things in the underbrush.

“Over there,” Shiro murmured, pointing at a rock hollow, where a patch of low-growing herbs had sprouted a pair of curious garnet eyes.

Something in the underbrush chittered, and suddenly they were everywhere. Thousands of mice, perhaps hundreds of thousands, in a rainbow of pastel colors, and some were surprisingly large. “Guys!” Lance said, “they've got Rodents Of Unusual Size here!”

“Inconceivable!” Hunk said with a sly smile.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Geek points, you two. Brock told us they were here, remember? What can you tell us about them that we don't already know, Coran?”

“Not all that much, really,” Coran said, eyes sparkling behind his visor as he examined the comparatively hulking mice, some of which were as large as small dogs. “Still relatively few of them, but they look healthy, and they're absolutely darling. The breeding program was a top-secret project, d'you see, even from me. I was going to do a bit of constructive espionage to find out more, but Zarkon went berserk, and that was pretty much that. I couldn't tell you what their full capabilities were then, much less now. I wonder what they were doing aboard that old ship?”

“Hey, only one way to find out,” Lance said and stepped forward, going down on one knee and giving their hosts his best **“Squeeeeeak!”**

That caused a great deal of chittering among the horde of rodents, and Lance knew mousy laughter when he heard it. “Okay, that broke the ice, but I'm not fluent and I think that I might have just called myself a cream-filled doughnut.”

Hunk snorted. “Hey, traditional. Okay then, we'll leave it to the pros. Over to you guys.”

The Castle's four mice scampered proudly up and introduced themselves, and a small group of natives came forward as well, still snickering, to do the same. The two parties whiffled at each other, and there was a lengthy discussion that might have been the opening pleasantries, and a great deal of squeaking and running around in circles that might have been a description of the events after, and possibly before, they had come out of the cryopods. It was adorable to watch, but after about fifteen minutes of it with no sign of letting up, the Humans were starting to get a little impatient, and the Alteans even more so.

“Any idea of what they're saying, Allura?” Shiro asked quietly.

“They're describing the current events, and the accommodations in the Castle,” Allura replied, gazing in fond amazement at her little friends. “In some considerable detail. I had no idea that they were so observant.”

One of the local mice squeaked sharply, and continued with a series of angry chirps and chitters that made the Castle group slump in contrition.

“She just asked them why it took so long for us to come,” Allura translated. “Oh, dear. It's been so very, very long since they've seen an Altean.”

Pidge stared at her. “They can remember what you look like? How long do they live, anyway?”

Allura shook her head. “Not that long. They do have tales that were passed down, and... images, I think they mean. There are images in the town, and in the ship. I must see them for myself, as well--”

Platt had just replied with a long string of squeaks that caused the big mice to squawk loudly, and the sounds of mousy horror rose up from the crowd.

“He's just told them that Altea's gone,” Allura whispered, “along with Father's entire Kingdom. Oh, dear, and whose fault that was, and that there is only one world where my people still exist, and that they are held prisoner there. Plachu is now offering them a place on the Castle.”

“Do they know that we're up to our ears in Galra right now?” Keith asked.

Allura nodded. “They mentioned it. Mice don't really make sweeping generalizations, Keith. If an individual is bad, it doesn't mean that all of his kind is bad, too. Platt and the others have become very fond of Lizenne, Zaianne, and Modhri, and they like the engineering and kitchen staff very much.”

Plachu's offer kicked off a whole new discussion, and one that soon became very loud, and involved a considerable amount of scampering, jumping around, and a few wrestling matches. It seemed that moving mice into a new home was no less involved than moving anyone else, with the added problems of seniority rights, distribution of territories and duties, accommodations proper to status and rank, training and familiarizing the new recruits to a working ship, designated feeding and breeding zones, and a number of other issues that simply did not translate. Allura's head fairly reeled with the complexity of the arrangements being made.

The Humans, however, had other opinions. Hunk sighed. “Look, I know what's going on right now is like, totally serious United-Nations-Level talks, but still... awwww. So cute!”

As one, all the mice in the meadow gave him a dirty look. Chulatt, who had been negotiating class rosters and working hours with a canny opponent, chittered sternly at Allura before turning back to the matter at hand.

“She says that we should run along and let the adults work.” Allura giggled, but her body language spoke volumes of relief. “All right. May we explore the settlement and ship, then?”

A few more squeaks back and forth granted them that permission, so long as they didn't break anything, and left everything as clean and neat as it was before they came. Thus chastened, they walked away, taking care not to step on anybody as they did so. Coran did harrumph a bit at being sent away like a fractious child, though.

“'Run along', indeed!” he grumbled. “In my day, any mouse not showing proper respect toward a prospective ally soon found himself being docked his pipla ration for a movement or more. We'll be some time in civilizing this lot, I think.” He glanced at the Paladins, who didn't look at all put out to be excluded from the important business in the meadow. “You aren't complaining?”

“It's not our business,” Shiro said calmly. “Even Allura can't understand more than half of what's going on back there, and we wanted to have a look at the settlement, anyway.”

“They're people, Coran,” Keith added, “and they're a lot like the dragons in some ways. They only look like cute fuzzy animals.”

Allura made a sharp, dismissive gesture. “They are perfectly able to handle themselves,” she said firmly, and there was a note of command in her voice as she turned to face the nearby settlement, “so we will let them get on with it. I _must_ know what happened to the Alteans here, and why and where they have gone!”

“We will, Allura,” Hunk said soothingly, patting a large satchel that he had slung over his shoulder. “I've got the power packs right here, and a sample kit. I'll want you and Coran to point out anything that you want me to try growing in Hydroponics, all right? Even the big stuff. We can always give the tree samples to the Halidexans, remember? They've got a lot more room than we do, and we already know that Altean trees can grow there.”

Coran gave him a grateful smile. “That's right, I'd forgotten. Well, you can start with this young prethinca here, and that teluscha fern, and—ooh—gnippic vines! One of my cousins used to brew a cordial from gnippic berries that could take the top of your head off. Oh, and here—deward nuts! Nothing better for clearing up minor skin ailments than deward-nut oil. Also useful for greasing small mechanisms. And here—collop fungus! Fried, baked, stuffed, chopped into salads, the delicate flavor and aroma is a winner for all occasions. Lance, Hunk, help me gather up some of this...”

Allura shook her head and strode briskly onward, leaving the three of them behind. Shiro paced along next to her in frowning silence for a long moment. “He doesn't seem too concerned about what happened here.”

Allura let out an exasperated sigh. “He's a realist. The settlement looks to have been been empty for a very, very long time, and he prefers to focus on what still lives, rather than worry about events that happened in the distant past. For all that he loves to tell stories about his own youth and family history, he lives very much in the present. I prefer to have the whole story.”

Pidge gave her a sympathetic look. “I'll just run back and get the power packs from Hunk, then, okay? Otherwise we'll be waiting all afternoon for those three to catch up.”

Allura was reluctant even to slow down, but conceded the necessity, fidgeting impatiently until Pidge came scampering back with a shoulder bag containing a trio of blocky objects. “I think that we're in what's left of someone's crop field,” she said, adjusting the strap length to a more comfortable position. “Most of the plants growing here, even the weeds, are Altean, and Coran's going nuts over them.”

Keith shrugged. “Hey, I'd probably flip out a little if you showed me a dandelion right now. You don't know how much things like that mean to you until you've lost them. Hey, is that a house over there?”

Allura looked around sharply in the direction he had pointed to; rising up amidst a small grove of gnarled trees was a pale object that was too small to be a hill and too regular to be a rock formation. Allura took off at a run toward the structure, and wasted no time in pulling layers of vines and sheets of moss from the sides, barely noticing when the others arrived to help her. It _was_ a building, albeit a small one, somewhere between a cottage and a shed, and although the walls were stained and pitted from ten millennia of exposure to the elements, it was remarkably intact. It was Shiro who uncovered the inscription, on a raised area at about knee-height. Allura dropped to her knees to examine the eroded carving, which was nearly invisible in spots.

“Pumping station number four,” she translated, the disappointment plain in her voice. “East marsh field number two. This is part of an irrigation system, probably drawing water from the river we saw over there. No longer functional.”

“It doesn't take much to clog a pipe,” Shiro observed thoughtfully, casting his eyes over the landscape and seeing the shape of the land more clearly now, how it dipped gently like a shallow bowl toward the center of the field. “Particularly if no one was there to run maintenance on it. They got off to a good start, though. A network like this would have taken a lot of manpower to set up. Let's keep going.”

Allura nodded and stood up, turning resolutely to face northwest, where the settlement lay. Pidge pointed to another feature, barely visible among the vegetation. “See that? There's a raised path going straight in. Probably a road, if all of this was marshland. That should lead us right into the town center. How deep was the water in these fields, anyway?”

“It depended on what they were growing,” Allura replied in a subdued voice, approaching the raised structure and scraping away the accumulated sediment. Sure enough, the white duracrete of Altean construction gleamed under its coating of dirt, roots, and small confused insects. “If it was something like chaft fruit or ilinta grain, perhaps no deeper than your waist, Pidge. If they were growing medrili here, it might have been deep enough to give your Lion a bath in.”

Pidge glanced up at the Lions on the heights, and did a few mental calculations. “Twenty, maybe twenty-five feet deep. Wow. It's almost full up to the top, now.”

“Yes,” Allura said tonelessly, stepping up onto the road without difficulty.

It was indeed a road, broad enough for four-lane traffic, and impervious enough so that even ten thousand years of blown dirt and rainfall hadn't been able to make much of a dent in it. Here and there, where the local geography offered a little shelter from the wind, the smooth surface still gleamed white under no more than a thin layer of dirt and grassroots. After a time, they came to what was unmistakably a gateway, set in a gap in a natural rock wall and festooned with native growth, and the construction was unmistakably Altean. The graceful arch also bore lines of text, the raised characters still visible under the clinging vines, which Allura translated for them.

“Serendipity Colony, east gate. Commemorating the completion of the town on the 16th of Quirth, in the decaphebe 8229. May We Rise From All Adversity. Two decaphebes. This was built two decaphebes after Father pushed us into the cryo-pods.”

Keith hummed under his breath, gazing up at the carved arch. “Serendipity, huh? Sounds like they weren't expecting this place, then. The Castle can be a little slow going into a wormhole, and it doesn't take much to mess up a wormhole to start with. Maybe they took damage as they were going in, and came out here instead of somewhere else?”

“That would explain why they weren't followed,” Pidge offered. “It's hard to build towns if someone's shooting at you.”

“It's possible,” Allura replied, peering curiously through the gate, parting the curtain of flowering vines that hung from the huge arch in explosions of bright magenta blossoms. Beyond those blooming streamers was a long tunnel, the far end obscured by still more flowering vines. Allura pushed them aside and stared around with a soft, “Oh...!”

It had been a beautiful town, once. Cupped within its own spacious crater, the buildings here had been spared the worst ravages of time. Domes still gleamed like pearls under the sun and spires still reached for the sky, for all that the windows were dark and empty. Only a thin layer of low-growing herbs and grasses covered what had once been a paved, sunburst-shaped central court, around which the homes and what may have been shops had been built, with streets leading off in seven directions. An eighth boulevard led onward toward the lake, and the ruined starship was just visible from here.

Shiro frowned, looking for things that were not there. “No vehicles left out,” he observed, “no evidence of awnings, flags, or furniture. Every building was closed up neatly, as if they were expecting to come back someday. Maybe they were rescued.”

Pidge was tapping at her wrist-comp, running scans with a ferocious scowl on her face. “Some vehicles, but like you said, they're all in garages. I'm reading furnishings in the houses, but not a lot of high-tech stuff. Huh. This is all electronic.”

Allura looked at her sharply. “Electronic? Not aetheric-driven?”

“Electronic,” Pidge said firmly. “Good old-fashioned Olympian spitballs. Actual electricity, Allura. It's pretty much corroded away, but I can see where every house here was connected to... yeah. That big place over there on the far side of town. That structure used to be a power station.”

Shiro studied the small holographic screen hovering above her wrist. “The power grid is an overlay, too. See that? There's an older system under it, probably a link to the ship, drawing power from what was left of the drive. Just how long can a Balmeran crystal sustain a large system, Allura?”

Allura leaned anxiously over Pidge's shoulder, studying the readout; alas, her teammate's guesses looked to be correct. “It varied. Balmeran crystals can serve indefinitely, if proper care is taken and the stone remains intact. The Castle's original crystal was warship-grade, and we kept at least three mechanic-Alchemists on hand at all times to make sure that it stayed in perfect condition. Father shut down the Castle's systems properly, which is why they weathered those ten thousand years so well. The crystals don't degrade, but a smaller crystal, if it sees heavy, constant use and if it has suffered damage, can lose power over time. Zaianne did say that this place lasted for about three thousand years; if they used it for that long, and had somehow lost the ability to take proper care of it, then they could very well have depleted their crystal.”

Pidge grunted disapprovingly, eyes still riveted to her screen. “That's not all that they lost. I'm not seeing any data storage systems here. I've got this set up so that it can detect circuitry clusters, and there aren't any. The people here might have kept hard copy diaries, but after seven thousand years? If there's anything left, they'll be too fragile to move.”

Allura straightened up, her gaze drawn as if by magnets to the ancient wreck. Drawing in a breath, she keyed her comm and contacted the others. “Team, do you hear me?”

“ _Loud and clear, Allura,”_ Lance answered, sounding as though he were lifting something heavy. _“Little busy here, is all. Coran's... aaargh, Hunk, hurry up already! Coran's determined to get some of everything, and these rock-melon things... Hunk, I really am going to have to drop this soon... Ooof! Seriously? That's the good part? Then what's the point of all the rest of it? Oh. You get to lift the next one, Coran. Did you guys need something?”_

“We're going to go and check out the ship now, people,” Keith said before Allura could speak. “The town's empty, and there's no real point in trying to look into any of the buildings. Not without a team of trained archaeologists, anyway. Pidge says that there aren't any reliable data storage systems here.”

“ _Seriously?”_ Hunk asked. _“No computers?”_

“None, and the power's down for keeps,” Pidge confirmed grimly. “We're hoping for better results in the wreck.”

“ _Oh, that's not good,”_ Coran said darkly. _“Not even residual or emergency systems?”_

“Nothing,” Allura said with a shiver, “and there hasn't been anything for more than seven thousand years.”

“ _We'll be right there,”_ Coran replied, sounding unusually serious. _“We've pretty much collected a bit of everything, anyway, and this pretty little world isn't going anywhere.”_

Shiro cast her a puzzled look. “Am I missing something?”

Allura nodded, her expression worried. “At the time just before Altea was destroyed, very nearly all of my people were practicing Alchemists. Most of them were minor talents, but all of them were capable of manipulating natural energies, and every Altean child learned how to build devices that used those energies very early on. It just comes naturally to us. Something very terrible happened here, if the people had lost those abilities. The question is what, and when.”

“Let's go and find out,” Shiro said.

“Whoa,” Hunk said, and the others could relate.

It was one thing to observe a good-sized starship in orbit, but quite another to see one resting on the ground. Or in the ground, as the case might be; the wind and weather over the past ten millennia had piled sand, dirt, and weeds against the sides in huge dunes, and whole new species of vegetation had bred and thrived in the nooks and crannies of the ship's hull, burying it further.

“It's Altean, all right. A Halipar-Quasnic Excursion liner,” Coran said after a moment's study. “One of the big interstellar tourist ships, as a matter of fact. Very high-end, very elite, capable of providing all of the finest dining and entertainments possible for a ship of this grade, even grew its own produce onboard in special garden decks. Can't see the registration, not that it matters now. It used to be very fashionable to visit exotic worlds on a phebe-long round-trip, particularly in a luxury liner like this one. A very popular line, too. Used to boast that they were fast enough to dodge Gantarash and tough enough to disappoint warships, and could do it so well that it wouldn't even disrupt the soup course during dinner. What a way to find out that the hype was true, eh?”

“Mostly true,” Hunk corrected him. “This sort of bad landing tends to spray the soup all over the ceiling. How do we get in?”

“Probably through the forward cargo hatch, judging by the angle,” Coran replied easily, working his way around to the right side of the wreck; it had listed to the left after it had fallen, leaving the right side more exposed than its opposite. “Over here—there's even a little path, and the mice have kept it mostly clear. Must be something fairly important in there, or they wouldn't have gone to the trouble.”

The path was narrow and steep, the earthen wall on the right held together mostly by the deep-penetrating roots of the local beach grass, and so tight in spots that Hunk's shoulders scraped against the sides. All of them but Pidge had to duck under the pale hull on the final descent to where the skin of the ship had come to rest upon the granite bedrock. There was a sort of grotto here, sheltered from wind and weather, and a vine with luminous berries revealed a pair of massive cargo doors that had been shut tight for eons. Closed but not unbreached, Pidge pointed out a moment later; one corner had been cut out so that a cable as thick as Shiro's waist could pass through it, disappearing under the mound of accumulated dirt.

“This is how they powered the town,” she said, touching the cable, and then jerking her hand back when a patch of insulation flaked away under it. “At first, at least. Any bets on where it leads?”

“Right to the bridge, probably,” Hunk said darkly, shifting the hang of his sample bag and frowning at the doors. “The drive deck's crushed. They were probably drawing power directly from the crystal. Happy fun quiz time, Coran. How do we get in? That door's gotta be fixed in place to hold the cable steady.”

“We'll open the other door, obviously.” Coran stepped forward and started running his hands over the lefthand doorframe. “Standard safety measures. All civilian ships had to have manual hatch controls that would work even if the power went out, particularly passenger craft. There was one instance where some cut-rate orbital shuttle firm wouldn't comply with that, and one of their buses got pinged by a bit of space junk in low orbit. Knocked out the whole drive, and the passengers panicked. They emptied out the emergency suit locker, then unfolded the entire shuttle like it was a paper boat, and then gave the pilot a shove that landed him in a marsh field a continent away. The following lawsuit was very entertaining. Here we go, team, give me a hand with this? It looks intact, but the lever's bound to be a bit stiff.”

His searching had uncovered a hidden panel containing a very large lever, and it took all of them together to shift it. The lefthand door slid open with a horrible grinding groan that made Hunk shudder. “Crud,” he muttered grimly. “Spooky old derelict ghost ship. It's gonna be haunted, right? Things like this are always haunted. I really don't like haunted ships.”

Lance nudged him. “You're fine with Zerod and Tzairona.”

Hunk nudged him back. “Those ghosts are _supposed_ to be there, like volunteers, and they're cool people. This, though... I don't know if anyone here wants company.”

Pidge snorted. “Hunk, I was in a Doom Moose ship, once. You guys dreamed it while I was in that ship. Compared to that, this should be _nothing.”_

“That doesn't mean that I have to like it,” Hunk retorted.

“That's just a risk that we'll have to take,” Allura said firmly, levering a stone out of the nearby earthen wall and wedging the door with it. “We'll try the bridge first. That should have the best access to the ship's data core.”

There were no ghosts.

If there had been any, they'd been stripped out and repurposed long ago, along with everything else. Luxury liner though it might have been, it hadn't been quite as large or luxuriously-appointed as the Castle was, and the survivors had salvaged absolutely everything of use. No furniture remained anywhere in the living quarters, the kitchens had been stripped right down to the bare wiring, huge sections of paneling had been torn up and the piping and conduits below had been removed. The panels themselves were gone, and so was much of the flooring; the Paladins had to take great care in those darkened corridors not to fall right through in spots. Even the emergency lights had been removed, and while their footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty halls, the place was no more eerie than any other abandoned warehouse. The only sign of life was a thin path through the dust, where generations of mice had traveled from section to section. They didn't seem to live here, though; these halls were home only to the occasional darkness-loving insect or patch of fungus.

The bridge was still mostly intact, although canted to the left at a slightly awkward angle, and most of the control boards had been removed. Far more important was the mess in the middle of the floor. Hunk raised his handlight higher, shining pale light upon an empty socket in the ceiling, then down across the pilot's dais and the console before it.

“Oooh,” he said unhappily, “that really was a bad landing.”

The Balmeran crystal was no larger than a standard microwave oven, but it still had weighed several hundred pounds. The impact of the ship against the ground had shaken it free of its moorings and it had bounced off of the dais, leaving a huge dent, and had come to rest in the control console, smashing it completely. The survivors hadn't even tried to extricate it, but had built some sort of framework around it instead, linking the darkened stone to the thick cable that had powered the town. That the crystal was utterly spent was plain to see, with no more shine to it than poor-quality glass and veined with so many cracks that it looked like the pieces of a shattered windshield.

Allura stepped forward and laid a hand on the crystal, frowning into the middle distance for a time before stepping away with a shake of her head, her eyes wide with distress. “It's ruined. The impact of its fall caused micro-miniature cracking throughout its structure, and the heavy use afterward eventually caused it to fail. The controls are either crushed or gone. The people took everything that still worked!”

Hunk patted her shoulder soothingly. “Calm down Allura. Let me get a feel for the ship, okay? They took a lot of stuff, but Altean tech can get pretty heavy-duty in spots. They might not have been able to take it all, if it was too big to move. Pidge, you're a little more sensitive to circuitry than I am. Little help here?”

“Sure thing,” she replied, taking his hand.

They stood very still for a time, exploring the ship from an angle that no other mechanic could. Cold and ancient and empty, its bones exposed to the still air; power systems gone, plumbing gone, small moving parts gone. The ship's AI had died along with the drive, leaving nothing behind it. Dimly and distantly, they could feel those salvaged items in the town some distance away, all of them repurposed into systems necessary for survival, all of them degraded by time and use. The two Technomages worked their way carefully through the wreck, seeking any intact circuit clusters and finding only a very few. Just as Pidge had detected earlier, the ship still had a squadron of pod shuttles; three of those had been dismantled right down to the frames, and four more had been too badly damaged in the crash to use. The remaining three pods were still intact and flight-capable, but unpowered, and the pod bay's hatch was too badly warped to open. Frustrated, Hunk and Pidge moved their awarenesses down and back toward the rear of the ship, tasting lake water and things that weren't precisely fish in the breached drive deck. It was there, in a middling-large room that had once been the private office of the chief engineer, that they hit pay dirt.

“Gotcha,” Pidge said triumphantly. “That's a memory bank! It feels like a private data log, Allura, down on the machine deck. There's an office down there where the console is built like a tank.”

“Had to be,” Coran said, looking up from his inspection of the smashed console; at least it didn't look like anyone had been in it when the stone had hit. “Regulations, you see. It was rare, but some bits of the engines on a ship like this could, just occasionally, throw a sprocket and cook everything around them. The monitoring stations had to be intact when the cleanup crew got there, so they could find out what went wrong, you know. And who to yell at, assuming that they weren't a carbonized squiggle on the deck already. Shall we, Princess?”

Several levels down and smelling of deep water and ancient piscines, the ship felt very different. Unlike the upper levels, this area had been left mostly intact by the survivors. Small screens still hung at intervals on the walls, which would have shown the crew's daily schedules, announcements, and even the menus in the ship's restaurant. Bits of furniture still stood in some of the rooms and small forgotten items still gathered dust on shelves, but what really got their attention as they came closer to their destination was the writing on the walls. Some of it was the standard graffiti left by careless passengers and crewmembers with opinions best expressed anonymously; Coran was happy to translate for them. _“Carali and Ethvert, happily forever. 8816-8823 and onward”_ read one such inscription, and Keith grinned at another that read, _“Second Mate Lucarian is a filthy, bug-jumping clone of a spavined boztweep”,_ and was accompanied by a scrawled doodle of some sort of imbecilic-looking creature.

Lance snickered. “Nice to know that some things are universal. I used to keep a journal of bathroom-stall poetry like this, and half of this stuff would have been right at home in the boy's restroom back in high school. What does this one say?”

Coran studied the short phrase thus indicated, and chuckled. “'Don't eat the keppar hash'. Not surprising, that. Keppar hash was notorious for its ability to... shall we say, clean out a person's system if they weren't used to it. Very much an acquired taste, I'm afraid, but very popular among those who had difficulties in that area.”

Allura rolled her eyes impatiently. “We're wasting time, team. Amusing as this is, it brings us no closer to solving this mystery.”

“It might,” Shiro said. He had walked a little further down the hall, and had come across something strange. “Allura, what's this? It looks like Altean characters, but it's different from the rest.”

Surprised, she and the others came over to see for themselves. The string of characters, scrawled on the wall with some sort of faded black paint, were larger than the other inscriptions, as if whoever had written them hadn't cared if someone might read them or not. The symbols themselves were strangely shaped, almost but not quite resembling some other alien script. Allura frowned at it, trying to make sense of the awkward lettering. “It _is_ Altean,” she said slowly, “but... strange. Coran, have you any idea?”

Coran squinted at the ancient writing. “It is a bit odd, isn't it? Reminds me of something I saw in a museum, actually. A slab of carved torialite from some old temple, commemorating the birth of a crown prince. The text was still perfectly clear—very well-preserved artifact, that—but I could barely make heads or tails of the writing itself.”

“Linguistic drift,” Pidge said. “Languages change over time, and so do the ways that people write the words. Three thousand years is a long time, people. You should see what plain English looked like just one thousand years ago. The real question is why they came back here that long after the wreck?”

“They came back a bunch of times,” Hunk replied from further down, shining his light down the hall. “Check it out—the walls over here are covered with writing.”

He wasn't wrong. From an arm's length above his head to about knee-height, the walls from that point on were one solid mass of text, arranged in tightly-packed columns that clearly showed the changes that time had wrought upon the written language. Neither Coran nor Allura were able to decipher them until several minutes later, where a particular column was just close enough to the standard style to be readable.

“These are all names,” Allura said, tracing a short string of symbols with a finger. “Names and numbers... ages, I think, and dates. But that can't be right! Coran, look at these numerals here—they're far too low!”

“You're right,” Coran said soberly, running his eyes over the figures. “Not a one above a hundred and ten, and most never even saw that many. Some didn't even make it into the double digits, either. Oh, dear, rather a lot of them, and it gets worse as you go along.”

“Is this something we should know about?” Keith asked, glancing warily at the walls.

Allura sighed. “Alteans are a long-lived people, Keith. Ordinarily, a healthy person might look forward to two hundred and fifty decaphebes, with some achieving as many as four hundred. This is a memorial wall—see here, this name is dated 9001, and he only lived for ninety-six decaphebes. Most of his contemporaries died younger than that. Even at a lowered technological level, the average lifespan should not have been so low, and there should not have been so many childhood mortalities. Something is very wrong here.”

“Let's keep going, then,” Shiro said, glaring into the darkness. “The sooner we find out what it is, the sooner we can stop it from happening to anyone else.”

They found the reason for the memorial wall some distance onward, when an open doorway gaped at them unexpectedly out of the shadows, leading into a tremendous chamber. This had been the ship's main storage hold once, where thousands of tons of materials, parts, and supplies had been stacked neatly on row after row of sturdy shelving. Those goods and supplies were gone, now, and in their place lay a multitude of objects that confused them for a long moment. Stacks of cylinders were laid out with grim precision on every shelf, ranging from roughly eight feet long and two feet in diameter, down to much smaller canisters, some no longer than Coran's forearm and not much larger around than an extra-large coffee can. The shelves themselves had been festooned with ornaments and charms, some of which still hung stubbornly where they had been tied to the frames, while others had fallen long ago, scattering beads and chimes over the floor, and the walls were dark with inscribed names and dates.

Lance swallowed hard, having seen something like this once before. “Holy crow, guys,” he said in a dry, strained whisper, “it's a morgue. This is why we didn't see any graveyards.”

Sharp breaths were drawn through six sets of teeth as the massed objects suddenly became coffins in their eyes; thousands and thousands of them, small and large, made from metal and glass and ceramic and tight-grained hardwood, all resting in their places with that special hushed stillness that no other artifact could duplicate. Tears trickled down Allura's face at this evidence of time's attrition upon her people, and she had to force down a wail of grief. They had all been placed here, perhaps in the hope of taking them home sometime in the future; perhaps the grieving families had believed that the ship that had brought their ancestors to this world would take their spirits to their long-lost home. _Too late, too late, too late,_ a terrible voice sang its litany in her mind; they had waited for rescue, and that rescue had never come.

Coran wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his own face no less mournful than hers. “Come on, let's see if the data bank has any explanations for us.”

She nodded jerkily and pulled her courage around her, continuing onward with determination. The chief engineer's office was easily enough found, at least, being no more than another few minutes' walk down the hall, the door wide open and showing the large room to not only be a place of work, but a dwelling as well. A sagging bedframe still stood in one corner, its mattress long gone to dust; beside it stood the crumpled remains of a bedside table and what might have been a dresser, and what looked like an oil lamp, long empty, lay smashed on the floor. At the other end of the room was the console and the chief engineer's chair; unfortunately, the chair was still occupied by the sole inhabitant of this ship. Bones, ancient and crumbling, lay piled in the seat and scattered on the floor beneath it, the skull resting in a nest of ribs and gazing upwards in mute accusation.

“Oh, geez, not good,” Hunk said, very quietly. “Pidge, let's get this thing powered up so we can get the info and leave, all right? I know, it's been seven thousand years, but this doesn't feel right.”

Pidge shivered and complied, pulling a power pack from her bag and helping Hunk to get it hooked up. Slowly, carefully, and with a certain amount of persuasion from Hunk, the console hummed back into life. It ran a few automatic self-checks, flashed a few warnings at them about the state of the ship's hull, and settled down to a steady pale-blue glow. Nobody objected when Allura nudged them aside, stepping carefully so as not to disturb the ancient bones, and took over at the console. Her fingers danced in the dim light, searching for what she knew had to be there. A moment later, lists of log entries came up on the screen, and with a jab that was perhaps slightly sharper than necessary, she chose the earliest one that had been recorded in the year 8826.

The face that popped up on the screen was of a middle-aged, dark-skinned Altean with piercing blue eyes and a sarcastic cast to his features, wearing a shirt printed with what might have been either exotic flowers or something by Jackson Pollock on a bad day, they weren't too sure. Judging by the ID tag pinned to his breast and the mouse on his shoulder wearing a very small version of that shirt, it was probably part of the standard crew uniform. _“Kroquesday, Thrang 5 of 8826; shipboard time, five o'clock, Chief Engineer Caralstom logging the movement's report. All systems functioning optimally, and Tachett here and his team finally found the source of the trouble in the service deck ventilation system. Turned out to be bockles. Only a small hive, thankfully, which was removed with no injuries and cleaned up promptly. Stores and Supplies staff reports that we're getting low on the following items...”_

Caralstom rattled off a series of items in a deadpan voice that continued until he let out his breath in a harsh laugh. _“Good luck getting any of those restocked this far out. The Bo'sun told Captain Hadrill that it wasn't a good idea to keep the Core Worlds route open, even while billing it as an adventure tour and jacking up the ticket price. The entire region's a political hazard zone right now, what with the King of Golraz telling that hive of raging helbas they've got running Galran Prime right now to take their delusions of Empire and shove them up their butts. Even with his grandson heading up the Voltron Force and one of our own living legends cuddling up next to him, Galran space isn't as friendly toward us as it used to be. I wish that they'd stop that. They lost their chance to expand the Empire when they let that assassin get to Prince Rhonorath, and they know it. Eh, maybe we'll find some of those supplies when we make port at Quolothis.”_

He smiled, and the mouse squeaked cheerfully. _“It's a fine place. Good colony, big, healthy population settling in nicely, for all that it's still pretty new, and the Terraforming Corps did a really good job there. Maybe I'll arm wrestle the Steward into giving me some shore leave—I've got a nephew there whom I've never met, and my sister makes the best jintik biscuits in the universe.”_

There wasn't much more to that log entry, and the next several were very much in that same vein. It wasn't until the seventh report that something new happened. The ship had finished that first round-trip and was out on a second, this one going through a more congenial region, when Caralstom was interrupted halfway through his report. A woman had burst in through the door, her face sheet-white with shock and stress and her lungs heaving from having run here as fast as she could.

“ _Chief!”_ she shouted hoarsely, _“We've got to get back home, and now—the Captain's cutting the tour short. Take the dampers off of the drive and get this tub moving!”_

“ _What?”_ Caralstom demanded, _“What happened?”_

“ _Voltron's gone mad,”_ the woman gasped out, and her shudder was echoed among the living. _“Stark, staring, glakshit insane. Some complete idiot blew Golraz to pieces, and the black Paladin didn't take it well. So far, he's blown the bedrock off of one of the Empire's planets and is going for another. Alfor's Ministerial Council has ordered that every ship with a passenger capacity of more than two people must return to Altean space right now. There are going to be refugees, and others who will get caught up in the fighting, and they're going to need help.”_

Caralstom barked a curse that his mouse echoed shrilly, and he ended the recording with a bang of his fist on the controls. Allura's hand trembled as she keyed the next recording, which had been made fifteen days later. He looked weary, and hollow around the cheeks as though he hadn't been sleeping well lately, and his mouse was missing. _“Chief Caralstom reporting in... chaos take the regs, this thing dates the recordings automatically and I'm too damned tired to care. Missed a couple of scheduled logs, too, not that it matters anymore. That raging animal of a Golrazi prince destroyed Altea. Voltron's gone, King Alfor's gone, the Castle's gone, and so are his daughter and his Seneschal. We don't know why. All we know for sure is that Galran Prime is a bloodbath right now, and the Core Worlds are either backing Zarkon up or lying very low. All of the neighboring spheres of influence are rushing in to grab whatever they can... and those grabbable goodies include us. Zarkon's forces have been destroying our colonies and rounding up refugees, Ancients only know why, and dumping them on Quolothis. Their allies have been playing along, too, hoping to please that madman enough to leave them alone. Idiots! Don't they understand that appeasement doesn't work on the insane? It just encourages them! They'll feel his displeasure soon enough, and then where will they be?”_

Caralstom had to stop for a moment, and got his emotions under control with a visible effort. _“We've rescued more than our share of refugees as well; the_ Pride of Altanis _was never supposed to carry more than two-thirds of the number we've got now, but we can't turn them away. It's putting strain on the drive, though, and there aren't any friendly ports out here anymore. The Captain's trying to find somewhere to hide until the worst of this is over, however long that takes. If worse comes to worse, we can start our own colony. There are enough people aboard to form a reasonably stable population base, especially if we're careful to record an accurate genealogy, and the garden deck and fresh-foods storage have enough seedstock and plants to start a good-sized farm. The drones can build houses and prepare fields, and do most of the grunt labor. We could hold out for generations if we had to. I have a bad feeling that we may have to. The best that we can hope for right now is that someone might get lucky and put a knife in Zarkon's back. I'm not holding my breath, though. Voltron's cadets are trained by the best to be damned near unkillable, and Zarkon was one of the best._ The _best, otherwise the Lion would never even have considered him.”_

The haggard-faced engineer gazed beseechingly at the screen. _“I just want to know what happened to him. He was proud and rank-conscious, but not evil. You can't deliberately destroy billions of innocent lives without being evil, and the Lions don't put up with that sort of thing in their Paladins.”_ He heaved a long sigh and rubbed at his reddened eyes. _“I need sleep. With any luck, I'll find the answer later, even if I have to spend a few decaphebes pulling weeds in a thrisk field first. Signing off.”_

The next three log entries were accounts of an increasingly desperate situation. Food and supplies were starting to run short, and they'd nearly been captured several times by Galra warships and other opportunists. The engines were having difficulty holding up under the increased pace, and there had been several conflicts between the Captain and some of the passengers over what to do and where to go. It had gotten very tense up on the bridge at that time, since the worst of the agitators had been some sort of relation to one of the nobles in Alfor's Court and had been milking that connection for all that it was worth, and even the crew had been starting to form factions. It was probably the impending mutiny that had led to the new face on the screen at the next log entry.

This time, it was being made by a woman with a bruised cheek and a shirt that was still colorful despite the grime and burn marks on it, and the mouse on her shoulder needed a bath. _“Acting Chief Engineer Alensa reporting,”_ she said without preamble, _“filling in for Caralstom. He was injured in the attack and the medics are keeping him in one of the few working medipods for the time being. Lord Bigglestone-Granthart broke an arm and is sulking because the Chief medic told him that he couldn't have a turn in one of the other ones, but even he has to admit that where it comes to technical knowledge, Caralstom is worth about two hundred and seventy-six of him. I'm getting this all backwards, aren't I?”_

The mouse squeaked reassuringly and patted her unbruised cheek.

She smiled briefly and continued. _“The Galra caught up with us three days ago—two warships, and not small ones either, both demanding our surrender. The Second Mate tried to do just that, but the Captain wasn't having any. There was a fight on the bridge, and the Pilot panicked. It's not a good idea to open a wormhole when your ship's caught between two tractor beams, but it forced them to let us go or be torn apart. One of them opened fire, trying to take out the engine deck, but the angle wasn't right and the bolt only grazed us. It did destabilize the wormhole, though, and the trip through it was... well, let's just say that it was very bumpy, especially with the Captain bashing the Second Mate's face into the navigational controls like that. We survived that and put down a small mutiny, but the power core's failing, half of the Teludav reflectors have cracked, and we have no idea where we are now. The ship's got a hull breach that we don't have the means to fix, and it's too dangerous to call for help. There is a gas giant nearby with a collection of planetoids orbiting it, six of which are potentially habitable. What's left of the bridge crew are determining which one is the best pick for colonization. Fortunately, we do have some people among the passengers who are trained scientists, medics, and other sorts of professionals; I just wish that we had the right equipment for them.”_

Allura then skipped to the next log entry, which began with a blurry screen and a long string of fuzzy-sounding syllables. Someone under the console was swearing. Eventually, the blurs resolved into a view of a room dimly-lit by the emergency glows, and a young man with hollow eyes and a sweat-stained shirt who was handing tools to the unseen source of mechanic's profanity. He glanced at the screen, and then down at his partner below.

“ _I think that did it, Jax. It's working,”_ he said in a rusty voice. _“I still don't know why you bothered with fixing this thing. It's not like we're going to need it, and somebody's going to shout at you for wasting power.”_

There was another pungent phrase from below, and a man in battered coveralls appeared over the edge of the control board, waving a tool admonishingly at his junior. _“We will, too, need it, boy. Sooner or later, someone will want to know what the Void happened here. These ships were never meant for atmospheric flight, much less putting down on actual dirt. Shipwrecks attract adventurers like syrup attracts helbas, and I, at least, do not intend to be forgotten. You hear that, people of the future? Let it be known that Senior Mechanic Jaxep Graston Barstack repaired this ugly heap of machinery for your viewing pleasure, with the help of some very skilled mice, I might add._ And _did it in defiance of orders, so there. This thing won't use all that much power anyway, especially since it'll be used only intermittently. It could run for a thousand decaphebes on a single power pack if used right, and I've got four hidden in a nearby parts closet. All right, boy, give your report. Quick, now, before some busybody notices what we're up to.”_

The younger man nodded and turned to the screen. _“Junior Mechanic Olend Dorsett here. Um. I have to keep this short. About a movement ago, maybe more, we're not sure, they were still arguing about which moon to land on when the Bo'sun spotted a Gantarash scout sniffing around the outer orbits of the solar system. On the far side of the sun from us, thankfully, but we were out of time, and the Captain had to take us down or risk winding up on a plate. The biggest one was the closest, so he thought to put us down by that big freshwater sea. It didn't go well.”_

“ _That's a massive understatement,”_ the older man growled, and a couple of mice squeaked agreement from his breast pockets. _“It was the worst landing possible, without it getting everyone killed. Halfway down through the atmosphere, the drive failed, and we dropped like a stone. The Pilots did their best with the jets and thrusters, but they weren't built for that sort of thing and couldn't do more than slow the descent a little, and knock us off course so that we landed in the shallowest part of the lake. The whole aft end is now an aquarium, the drive's dead for keeps, the crystal fell out of its socket and nearly crushed the Navigator, and between those failures and the bad landing, we've lost more than a quarter of the passengers and crew. We've put the bodies in stasis pods in the hold for now; hopefully things will cool down enough later on to take them somewhere more appropriate.”_

“ _Yeah,”_ the young mechanic said, drooping wearily. _“Quiznek, but we've been busy. It's early spring here, thankfully, so everybody's been running themselves ragged getting houses built and fields plowed and planted. Thankfully, there's a big open area to the east that's got deep, good-quality soil, and a few deeper spots that will make good marsh farms, and a little highland area for the high-altitude plants. At least we'll have a juniberry meadow. Some of the local plants and fruits are edible, and some of the animals and fish. The mice can eat more of the local stuff than we can, so at least we won't have to worry about them. Our rations are going to be a little tight for a while and there's something in the local flora right now that has our one xenobiologist a little worried, but we'll get through it. We have to. Hopefully, we won't be here for long.”_

“ _Please,”_ Jax said fervently. _“I've got better things to do with my life than unclog plumbing. The mice love it here, at least. Plenty to do and plenty to eat, and the sunshine and fresh air makes their fur all glossy. Even that experimental pack of Paswilqs we've got aboard are thriving, and Chicule is showing definite signs of being pregnant. I'd take her to Medical and get her checked, but the medics have all they can handle and then some. Maybe later I'll—oops.”_

Something in his pocket had gone _beep._

“ _Quiznek, they've spotted us,”_ Jax said, glaring at a small device that he'd pulled out of his pocket. _“Time to shut this thing down again, and we'll try to keep you posted, future people. With any luck, there won't be many more log entries.”_

Allura lifted a hand to open the next entry, quivered, and dropped it. Shiro wrapped a comforting arm around her, and she leaned into the embrace, trying not to cry.

“Crud,” she heard Lance mutter, and agreed wholeheartedly; there were many, many more log entries.

Going through all of them one by one would take hours, she knew, and she didn't think that she could bear standing around in this wreck for much longer. Wordlessly, she chose another entry at random, in what looked to be the autumn season of the second decaphebe. This time, it was a woman reporting in, and one who had apparently been drinking.

“ _Greetings, future everybody!”_ she said merrily, and giggled. _“Sorry about the unprosseff..._ unprofessional _delivery, but Steff rolled out a barrel of her first batch of numvill. I will absholutely guarantee that nobody in town is more coherent than I am right now, and most of them are a lot lessh sho! Harvesht was good thish decaphebe, lot of ladiesh coming up pregnant, including—hic—probably me. Power's holding okay, pipes're clear, pumping network's doing fine, no shigns of trouble from the sky. Or reshcue, either. Hurry up, you people! We've got no idea of what's going on out there, and Cap'n won't even let ush put up a shattellite. Gantar-bait, he saysh, and he ain't wrong, unfortunately. Everything'sh fine here, anyway. Um.”_

She paused and blinked drunkenly at the screen, seemingly at a loss, and then grunted dismissively.

“ _Shupposhed to report a bunch of other things, and_ dralked _if I can remember any of 'em. Gonna go back to the feshtival and shee if there'sh any of that numvill left. Later, you all.”_

Allura selected a number of others, this time at intervals of fifty decaphebes, and then intervals of centuries, and they were more or less the same. The colony prospered well enough, for the planetoid's climate was mild, but one log entry made note of a worrying trend.

“ _She's showing no signs of aetheric talent at all,”_ the aging woman on the screen reported, her brows pinching worriedly, _“and she's not alone in that. Half of the children are having difficulty even changing color, to say nothing of changing shape, and some can't even feel the difference between live and inanimate! Also, there have been a number of stillbirths, and Eshram Laudy recently died, even though he was only two hundred. Medical isn't sure why his health declined suddenly like that, and neither are the rest of us! He was as healthy as anything, and then—boom—dementia followed by total system failure. We just don't have medical equipment sensitive enough to pinpoint the cause. Worse, the instruments are old, and have seen a lot of hard use, and they've begun to malfunction frequently. The techs are doing their best, but there are limits...”_

Allura skipped ahead another century, and a bony man of indeterminate age sat before them now, looking as though he'd been weeping. _“The epidemic seems to have ended, finally. The new vaccine did the trick, but it cost us—the medicine machine has failed permanently, and nobody left alive knows how to make a new one. We'll recover, but slowly; we've lost all of our elders and many of the children. We've got enough people to keep the fields producing and a few of the drones still work, so we'll have no shortage of food, at least. The reduced load won't hurt the crystal, either. It's starting to crack. Just a little, but it's visible now..._

Allura made a thin sound of distress in her throat and chose another, this time many centuries ahead, and the person making the entry shocked her. At first she thought that the woman might have been little more than a girl, but the lined face and gnarled hands spoke of age, and her hair had been whitened by time, rather than genetics. She was very short for an Altean, no taller than Pidge, and she spoke with a peculiar accent. Linguistic drift was taking its toll upon the language.

“ _Elusia Trannat here,”_ she said with a wave of one knob-knuckled hand, _“possibly for the last time. M'grandson says I'm too old for this, an' I is starting to agree. Some'un's gotta make the log, though, an' too many fear this old hulk. How can they not, it bein' the Funeral Place? They say the dead ones walk of a night, tryin' t' pilot the Ship out and away, back away Home. There's thems as says that Altea never was, and this is the only world that is. Eh, we know better, you and I. We've seen the early logs, for all their funny dress and funny talk, and words that dun't have meanin' no more. Maybe ye'll know what they mean, comin' from elsewhere. Come soon, will ye? One o' the logs says a man died at only two hunnerd decaphebe's age. Only! Few get that many decaphebes these days. Look at me—I'm a mere ninety-three, and can't 'spect much more. But 'nough of that. Fields still producin' fine, though we've had to let the northerly one go fallow—just not enough people to work it no more, and no drones left to help out. Pumps still work, mostly, pipes still bein' kept clear. Crystal's holdin' on yet, but not for much longer, even rationed as it's been since my great-great granny's time. The Glasswrights have got a solution, they say—somethin' they call 'lectricity. Getting power from sunlight. Say they've found it in some old book, and 'tis simple enough, and Ancients know we've got the sunlight. Up on the heights with no trees to block it, they'll put their new collection panels, and t'will power the town a treat. They're layin' cable already, half old stuff from the Ship, half copper from the big deposit across the lake. Copper! That corrodes, so it does, and wears out, but we dun't got nothin' better. Layin' it all in now, to save time later. Good people. Shame we don't have more of 'em.”_

The old woman sighed and shook her head. _“We're less now than the First Folk were, when they first arrived. Hardly anyone's got Alchemist-power these days, and too many babbies is born dead, born bent, don't live long 'nough to marry, or marry but can't get with child. Them as don't come down with mind-rot, anyway. Mice are fine, though, and they help however they can. We need all we can get, and that's the truth. I don't know how much longer we can hang on. One o' the earlier logs was a Medic, sayin' he thought it was a sickness doin' this to us. Somethin' livin' in blood and bone, passed down through gen'rations one after t'other. Couldn't say what, couldn't see it, but knew it was there all the same. Said that some others wouldn't believe it, they even said it was the Ancients' displeasure at us for not going to Quolothis when we had the chance, but that's stupid. Hurry up, future people, and tell us what it is and how to fix it. Time's runnin' out.”_

Allura reached out again, but Coran caught her hand. “Just go to the last one, Princess,” he said gently. “It's not good to draw it out, especially not here.”

Allura swallowed a sob and nodded jerkily, and touched the controls. The final recording, dated as having been logged in the 11,934th decaphebe, whirred into life, blurring, clearing, and showing an individual that made the team gasp in pity. It was a well-known fact that adverse environmental conditions and extreme inbreeding can do some nasty things to a genome, and this poor fellow looked to have had most of them. Like Elusia before him, he was undersized; unlike Elusia, he was skeletal under his shapeless smock, and large, lumpy, greenish blotches marred his skin. Both unmarked skin and his thinning hair were colorless, almost translucent, showing the bluish trails of the veins beneath the skin. One arm was a shrunken thing, with a tiny crab-claw of a hand. The other was mostly normal, but had six fingers. The jaw had an odd shape and crooked teeth, the spine was twisted; one eye was undersized and blind, staring mistily at nothing at all, and the other was vaguely pink and rheumy. When he spoke, it was in a croaking mutter, and the words took concentration to follow.

“ _Caalb here. Yiz laate, Futerr Peplez,”_ he said laboriously. _“M'muzzer saaz yu come sumdaayz. Too laate. I'ze laazz'un leff. Dilk tuk dedd fyfe dek'feeb pazz, tuk me an' nundred mize ta geddim wrap'n' stowed. Haadda zing Goin' Home zong aall by 'zelf, cuz none leff but me. Big zicknezz go 'round when I wuz liddle, moz' folkz tuk dedd, 'n no more chilez born live. Power ztop lon' go. Waatuh ztop lon' go. Felds grow aall by 'zelfs, s' daat'z ztill gud. Mize help me. Zmaart mize, zmaarter'n me by long zhout. Woul'n laazz zo long 'thout 'em. T'ey c'n on'y do zo mush, tho. I'ze dyin'. No s'prize there. Aam whole... forty-un dek'feeb old. Liff longer'n eff'body. Dun duty, tho. Aall house cloze up, aall tingz put 'waay. Neet, cleen. Aall naame, daate, aall writ on waall, zo Aainshentz know who we wuz. Neffer ztopt hopin' yu'd show, aany'f uz. Eh, maaybe meet yu m'zelf—told mize t'leef me here, aafter diz laazz log. Funny ting... more'n tree towzan dek'feeb old... ztill comfiest chaair... aanywhere. 'Maazin, how t' old ztuff laazz.”_

The ruined man sagged exhaustedly in an ancient chair that nevertheless looked younger than the person sitting in it, staring at them out of the screen for a long moment with a gaze that went right through them. _“Ztill wundrin...”_ he muttered faintly. _“Ztill wundrin... whut made Ship Peplez come 'ere t'die... aan' leff 'em lon' nuff 'ere t'do it? Maaybe yu tell uz... when yu come to taak... taak uz aall t' Clofis. G'bye.”_

He seemed to crumple up with a soft sigh that emptied him out, and the body slumped limply into the contours of a chair meant for a much larger person. A mouse clambered up onto the control board, squeaked mournfully at the screen, and then ended the recording. Allura burst into tears, wrapping her arms around Shiro and sobbing brokenheartedly into his breastplate. Shiro eased her carefully away from the console, unwilling to disturb the old bones in the chair any more than they had been, and the others drew close around her, sharing her grief. It was one thing to witness a death. It was entirely another to witness the slow extinction of an entire population.

“Pidge,” he said softly after a time, “can you copy the ship's log?”

“Already done, Shiro,” Pidge said in a subdued voice and shut down the console, pulling the cable that connected it to the power pack. “We'll want to decontaminate everything when we get back. Everything. The plant samples, the Lions, the mice, us; probably two or three times. I don't want whatever killed these people coming back to haunt us, or worse—hitching a ride to Quolothis.”

“Good point,” Coran muttered darkly. “Though we might want to have Lizenne see if she can find the culprit. She's a better geneticist than any of us are, and whatever that bug was, it doesn't seem to bother Galra. Oh, _quiznek,_ do you think Brock might have already spread it broadcast?”

“If he has, then there isn't anything we can do about it now,” Shiro replied grimly. “Lance, can you feel anything?”

Lance shrugged helplessly. “I don't know what to look for. I mean, I keep an eye on everybody's health, sort of out of habit, but I haven't felt anything unusual. Maybe if we took back a sample from the morgue--”

The screen suddenly flickered to life again, filling with static and emitting an angry sputter that made them all nearly jump out of their skins. The temperature plummeted, and the Paladins' breath fogged against their faceplates—not a physical chill, or it wouldn't have been able to penetrate their armor, but keenly felt all the same. On the walls, the shadows cast by their handlights shifted and changed, taking on the shapes of a silent multitude, pale spots glowing and vanishing like light cast from a turning crystal. Like eyes, they knew, and ice trickled down the team's spines, knowing that they were no longer alone in this derelict ship. Images flashed and glimmered on the screen in no particular order, showing multiple faces in quick succession. Shiro in particular glanced around in alarm—this was not a slow, cool presence like Zerod's, nor was it the hot and insistent prominence of something like Tzairona. This was an angry mass haunting, the brittle anguish of the abandoned and betrayed, dry as mummy dust and as dangerous as tombs. Multiple voices spoke, hollow and stuttering, out of the console's speakers in brief bursts, a voice per word, all crowding into other voices and yet forming a simple but very clear message.

“ _What-what-what hap-hap-happened?”_ the crowd of voices demanded, even as the images layered, blurred, and drifted over the screen. _“Why-why-why-why di-did-didn't y-y-y-you-you c-c-c-co-come? T-t-ta-take-take u-us all-all-all ho-ho-home!”_

“We couldn't,” Coran told the chaotic screen, knowing all too well what he was speaking to. “Zarkon, who was the last black Paladin in Alfor's time, went mad and destroyed Altea and all but one of the Colonies because Alfor had hidden the Lions from him. We had to. What had gained a hold on him at that time couldn't be allowed anywhere near Voltron. The Princess and I were put into cryo-sleep to wait it out while Alfor went back to try to stop him... and he failed. It was ten thousand decaphebes before the Lions took matters into their own hands. No one came back for you because there wasn't anyone left to do so. There still isn't, or almost. Quolothis still exists, but it's ringed 'round with Zarkon's forces. No one gets in or out.”

“ _Zar-Zar-Zarkon st-st-still-still li-liv-lives?”_

“Not for much longer, if we've got anything to say about it,” Keith replied boldly. “We _will_ free Quolothis eventually. More importantly, we'll get rid of Haggar, too. She's probably what turned him bad in the first place.”

There was an incomprehensible jumble of voices that trailed off into two remarkably clear words. _“Living legends.”_

“Once, perhaps,” Allura said hoarsely, her voice raw with stress. “Not any more. Not for a very long time now. They are destroyers, thieves, and parasites, and we will end them as soon as possible. We cannot take you from this world yet, and I'm deeply sorry to have to tell you that. We have nowhere to put you, nowhere to take you, and we cannot risk spreading whatever it was that killed you to those who still live. There are no other Altean populations besides Quolothis.”

The screen hummed eerily, static washing over it like a passing snowstorm. _“Ha-ha-hav-have m-m-m-med-medic?”_

“We do,” Shiro said solemnly, “and a Healer. They're very talented people, and have very good equipment.”

There was another buzzing pause. _“Tak-ta-take m-m-my bab-bab-baby. My baby. D-d-died i-in ep-ep-epid-d-d-emic. T-t-tak-take h-her h-h-home!”_

“We will,” Hunk said, radiating sincerity. “We won't forget any of you.”

“ _P-p-p-promise!”_

“I swear it,” Allura said, the words ringing in the charged air. “We will take you home, once the road is open.”

There was a shuddering sound from the console, which flickered and went dark again with one last faint word: _“Yes.”_

The chill vanished. The shadows went back to being shadows. The screen was once again nothing more than an example of antique hardware. Hunk shuddered and turned away from the console. “Okay, that was super creepy but not completely unexpected. We'd better go and—yikes!”

At his yelp, the others whirled around and saw that they weren't alone; sitting still and silent in the doorway, their eyes reflecting the light from their handlights like thousands of tiny, garnet-tinted mirrors, were a horde of mice. It was only slightly reassuring to see their own four friends among that number.

Allura's expression hardened. “You saw all of that?”

The mice chirped an affirmative.

“Good. Will you help us fulfill that promise?”

Mousy battle cries filled the air.

Allura nodded decisively. “Very good. Let us collect our first passenger, then, and take this first step towards home.”

The mice parted to let them pass, and as she crossed the threshold, Allura heard one last wistful whisper in her ear. _“G'bye,”_ the last survivor of Serendipity Colony told her, and she turned to see a pair of faint lights from the engineer's chair flicker and fade into darkness.

Shivering, she continued onward, the others at her side and the army of mice chirping and chittering around their feet. Something was waiting for them in the morgue's entrance that didn't help to settle their nerves any. Gleaming dustily in the beams of their handlights was a glassy object, something like a large pickle jar, and it had not been there before. No mouse tracks were evident on the dusty floor around it, and Coran humphed nervously at the sight.

“Stasis bottle,” he said, lifting the object gently. “Originally used for keeping hespin spice fresh. Lovely stuff, hespin, smelled and tasted heavenly, but it would lose its virtue in less than a varga after picking if it wasn't dropped straight into one of these. It was rare and expensive even in Alfor's day.”

“I remember,” Allura said quietly; the bottle held no spice now, and instead contained a pitifully tiny figure, wrapped in soft cloth and still holding a small stuffed toy. “What it holds now is infinitely more precious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now go get a hug from your nearest loved one.


	6. Moving On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lighter chapter for you all today, with hopefully no gut punches. Just some sadness, some comfort, and a battle between hats.

Chapter 6: Moving On

Not all of the mice had wanted to come along, which was understandable. That unnamed planetoid had become their home in truth, and they lived in their millions in an idyllic and largely predator-free existence upon it. Allura had promised to register their world as Proscribed due to unclassified contagion, which would keep adventurers out of their orbits more effectively than a garrison of warships and an orbital fort. Plague was the eternal bogeyman of all explorers. Still, enough of them volunteered to come to staff the Castle properly, although they knew that they would spend their first days in quarantine until the medics had found out what had caused the aetheric degeneration, shortened lifespans, and infertility in the Altean settlers. The fact that the bottle held a plague victim was to be considered a two-for-one bonus; Altea and its colonies had been certified contagion-free before Zarkon had destroyed them. This was new, and it had to be addressed promptly.

First things first, though. The Lions couldn't be allowed into the Castle while potentially carrying a dangerous pathogen, so Keith had to spend a little time burning them clean inside and out before they could be returned to their hangars. After that, the Paladins took themselves and all of their cargo straight into the decontam chambers, which Coran set to a higher level than normal. Sample jars, stasis bottle, satchels and power packs into one tube, the new mice went straight into quarantine, and Paladins and Allura's four mice into the other tube. It made their armor thrum and the airflow was strong enough to get both Pidge and the mice airborne, but that was a very small price to pay for being cootie-free. Platt and his companions seemed to enjoy the flight lesson, at least.

Pidge was rather less amused by it, and looked downright sour when the whirlwind eased off, landing her squarely in Hunk's arms. “Don't even think about it, Hunk,” she said, glaring at him.

Lance grinned, glad to have something, anything, to laugh about. “How's her body weight, Hunk?”

Hunk bounced Pidge lightly in his arms, making her squeak in protest. “A little light. You've been skipping snacktime again, Pidge.”

“I have not!” Pidge protested, struggling to get down. “It's just been really busy lately, and—hey!”

Hunk had tossed her into Keith's arms. Keith smiled at her, although his eyes were haunted. “Well, I could sure go for a cup of hot cocoa right now, and so could she. What do you think, Lance?”

Pidge squeaked again as she landed in the next set of arms, but didn't protest further. She needed this as much as they did, she realized; the derelict colony had shaken them all on a deep and visceral level. “Definitely,” Lance replied, holding her close. “And maybe some marshmallows and minty cookies. How 'bout you, Shiro?”

Shiro caught her with ease. “And extra whipped cream in the cocoa,” he said agreeably. “Allura?”

“It sounds lovely,” Allura said with brittle cheer, catching Pidge and cuddling her like a teddy bear. “Hmm, yes. We should definitely set this up as a protocol, I think; a post-supernatural experience routine would be a good idea, If we're going to be doing any more of that sort of thing. Did Father and his team have any of that type of protocol, Coran?”

“Several,” Coran said, observing the mice, who were running around the chamber and squeaking excitedly. “We didn't often encounter the unquiet dead, but we did knock into a steady stream of monsters, despots, tyrants, demonologists, and ancient war machines of dire and dreadful purpose. All of which tended to get up to some truly unpleasant pastimes, I'm afraid, which they often displayed publicly. Absolutely nightmare-inducing, most of them, so we had to come up with ways to cope. People tend to forget that heroes are people, too, and just as capable of waking up screaming as the next man. More so, really, since they wind up seeing a lot more of the nasty stuff. Nobody got possessed by evil spirits this time, at least.”

“I'm not even going to ask,” Hunk sighed, thinking long thoughts about cocoa and cookies. “Let's get our armor off and see if Lizenne's available, okay? I really, _really_ want to know what could turn somebody like that first guy into somebody like that last guy.”

Coran humphed disapprovingly at being denied a chance to tell one of his anecdotes, but obligingly contacted the bridge. “Are you there, Madame?”

“ _I am indeed, Coran,”_ Zaianne answered promptly. _“Would you mind terribly telling me why you set fire to the Lions just a little time ago?”_

“Sanitary requirements, I'm afraid,” Coran replied. “We found sufficient mice to please our guests, but we also found that the Altean colony had succumbed to at least one unknown disease. Is Lizenne able to meet with us?”

“ _She's in the main lounge with Modhri and his kin,”_ Zaianne told him. _“Their negotiations have concluded as well as could be hoped, and they're having tea together publicly to show everybody that we're officially full allies now. I take it that you brought her some samples?”_

“Copious samples, yes,” Coran replied, and everyone's eyes strayed uneasily to the stasis jar again. “Some more worrying than others. All bottles decontaminated, including an Altean specimen—that's the important one, as you might have guessed. The new mice have been placed in quarantine, of course, with plenty of snacks and games to keep them occupied.”

“ _Good enough,”_ Zaianne said. _“I'll tell Lizenne that you're coming.”_

“Thank you, Madame,” Coran said and cut the connection, and then tapped a few other controls, allowing them to exit and collect their gear. Allura tried to put Pidge down, only to have the green Paladin grab tightly onto her arm. Allura was still vibrating from the aftershocks of having to watch her own people suffer slow degradation and death, and Pidge knew that she needed something to hold onto right now.

“Carry me,” Pidge said, laying her head on Allura's shoulder and gazing up at her with sad amber eyes.

“All right,” Allura said, secretly grateful for the excuse; even heroes needed comforting now and again.

The scene in the lounge when they arrived was one of decorum. Small children played games, older children studied lessons, and adults sat around tables and conversed quietly together with one eye on the youngsters and the other eye upon a particular group in the center of the room. Lizenne and Modhri were engaged in polite conversation with Modhri's parents, pouring tea and sharing a platter of small sweets.

Lizenne looked much more relaxed now and Modhri was genuinely happy, they were pleased to see, and was radiating his usual air of comfort and competence. His parents seemed to be very much at ease as well, which was a very good thing to observe.

“There you are,” Modhri said with a welcoming smile and nudged the sweets platter in the Paladins' direction, who all were now staring hungrily at the delectable contents. “How did it go?”

“It could have been better,” Shiro admitted, sinking down heavily onto a nearby chair and accepting a mug of tea from Modhri's father... and trying to ignore his team's pushing and shoving over the platter's contents. “We found the mice, all right, that was the easy part, and collected a wide variety of plant samples. It was what was in the settlement and the wreck that gave us some trouble...”

It was a great relief to give them his report, even if he did have to break off halfway through it and remove a bone... well, a _petit-four_ of contention from his teammates in order to keep them from flipping the table. It was a very tasty cake, too, and went nicely with his tea. It was also a relief that Galra could take reports of supernatural activity completely in stride; back on Earth, his superiors would have had him hustled over to the nearest psych ward before he'd finished talking.

“And then we came back,” he finished up, brushing crumbs off of his fingers, “taking every precaution we could. The new mice are in quarantine, Keith cleaned up the Lions, and we've decontaminated everything that wasn't sealed in a collection bottle, and cleaned the bottles themselves.”

Lizenne nodded approvingly. “Well done. May we see the samples?”

Shiro glanced curiously around the table; she was still being very polite, he noticed, and Modhri's parents looked no less interested than she did. Hunk burped and laid his satchel on the table.

“I decided that taking chances was a bad idea,” Hunk said, pulling out a glassy object. “Alteans are, like, super tough and smart, and even three thousand years on an alien planet shouldn't have bothered them all that much, especially if nobody from outside was giving them trouble, so I brought the stasis kit along.”

“Smart lad,” Coran added, helping him lay out the cylinders. “It was actually something of a ready-made vegetarian buffet down there. They had crop varieties that I'd only read about, back in the day—here, see this? _Blue_ theeba herb, from Lalliteer Colony. That was a very new cultivar, even the Castle's kitchens hadn't been able to get a sample more than once or twice, and here, variegated amteq grain from Cuniqua. I believe that I've had that precisely once before, which is a shame, since it made the very best possible cake flour. We also picked up samples from some of the native growths that my suit's sensors highlighted as edible, including... ah, here. Isn't this an odd little thing? Not quite a mushroom, not quite an animal, and watching them toddle about is highly amusing.”

“How strange,” Lelannis murmured, and then snapped her fingers. “That reminds me—Allura?”

“Yes?” Allura asked.

“My eldest daughter has a gift for you, as requested by your aunt,” Lelannis said with a motherly smile. “She assisted Lady Trelenn—Lizenne's mother—in the private gardens. She has gathered up viable samples of every last Altean plant and cultivar for you. There are over a hundred varieties, guaranteed stable and healthy.”

Allura's eyes filled at this kindness, and she did not care if this woman saw her in tears. “Thank you.”

Modhri's father—Arantin, she thought his name was, smiled sweetly and folded her hand in his own warm palms; she now knew from whom Modhri had inherited his compassion. “It is the very least that we could do,” he murmured gently in a voice like Hunk's very best space-chocolate fudge sauce, warm and rich and sweet, “I personally cannot fathom how you have weathered your losses so well. Allow us to return to you a little of what was taken, my dear. It isn't much, but it's all we can give.”

Allura shuddered, unable to speak for a moment; what she had seen and experienced in Serendipity Colony had affected her more deeply than she had realized, and she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into this man's arms and wail like a baby. Seemingly able to sense this, Arantin stood up and gathered her close, letting nature take its course.

“Sorry,” Lance said over her muffled sobbing. “It got really bad down in the wreck.”

Arantin shook his head and patted Allura's shuddering shoulders gently. “There is a place where even the stoutest hearts break. There is no shame in this. The only ones who can look oblivion full in the face without needing to weep are those who have no hearts at all.”

Lizenne gasped suddenly, surprising them into looking around. Hunk had pulled out the jar from the morgue, and Lizenne took it from him with an expression of pity and horror on her face. “So small... they let you take this?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said heavily. “They kind of insisted. She died in an epidemic, so you've got twice the puzzle to work on. We've got a copy of the ship's log, too, which might help. Just... just treat her with respect, all right? We'll have to take her home someday.”

For a moment, insult flashed over her features, but she shook it off almost instantly. “Hunk, dear, the death of a cub this young is one of the worst things that can happen to a family, and in the ancient days, the ceremonies involved in interring such a one were second only to those performed for the death of a Queen. The burial place of a cub is sacred forever; even today, a childrens' graveyard may not be disturbed, save by the gravedigger, which is why the old Temple ruins have not been razed and built over. This child will be revered as a hero even in death, for her sacrifice will safeguard the survival of an entire people, and possibly others who might be vulnerable. Lelannis, Arantin, I need to take these to my lab, if you do not mind.”

Lelannis made a gesture that combined sympathy and respectful dismissal. “With all haste, and I wish you luck in this hunt. Find those monsters, and destroy them.”

Lizenne nodded. “Modhri, would you please bring along the plant samples?”

Modhri rose instantly, gathering up the stasis cylinders into their satchel and shouldering the heavy bag, making no attempt to take the Altean infant from her. “Lead on, my Lady. I'll get an isolation chamber set up as well.”

“Thank you,” she said, bowing politely to everyone, and left at a brisk pace with Modhri right behind her.

“She's taking this seriously,” Keith observed with a worried frown.

“Plague is something that no one should take lightly,” Lelannis said darkly, motioning to a nearby nephew and sending him off to refill the platter. “Sit, all of you, and tell us about yourselves. Making peace with your aunt has kept us so busy that we've barely seen you at all. Zaianne has told us that you five are of a people related to ours, and I can see it clearly; what is your world like, and how have you come to be here?”

“That's a long story,” Pidge said, plopping down in a chair, “and a weird one. It's got everything—pirates, aliens, dragons, ninjas, dinosaurs, witches, magic, secret agents, prophetic visions, space battles, an evil emperor, gladiators, ghost ships... I think that we're up to four ghost ships now if you count Shussshorim, which I totally do. Doom Moose, huge space monsters, holy relics, giant robots, a dumbass prince, a really cool prince, cosmic death spiders, one of your own Gods, and Doodlebug.”

Arantin eased Allura down into a chair and handed her a napkin to blow her nose with, then turned and accepted the loaded platter that his puffing nephew came hurrying back with, as well as a jumble of teacups. “It sounds fascinating,” he said, pouring out tea. “Do tell.”

Shiro could not help but admire how adroitly the two older Galra had managed the situation. Letting him and the others describe the early stages of this very long, strange adventure gave Allura time to recover her equilibrium, and Arantin made sure that her cup stayed full and that she had the best choice of treats from the platter. Skills picked up from a lifetime of practice, he had no doubt, and found himself relaxing as he and his team took it in turns to describe a series of events that just got weirder as they went along. Lelannis and Arantin were a good audience, too, laughing at the funny parts and offering their sympathy at the difficult ones, and it wasn't long before everybody in the room had gathered around, listening with ears quivering in fascination. It took several refills of the snacks platter to get through it all, and many cups of tea.

Eventually, Lance leaned back in his seat with a tired sigh, finishing up their wild tale with a grimace of distaste. “And now, we've brought back a seven-thousand-year-old forensic mystery, and a big obligation to both Quolothis and Mouse World. I'm really hoping that Lizenne can find out what did them in, and put together a cure. We only saw a few of the log entries, but we could see the progression, and it was super bad.”

“I can imagine,” Arantin said quietly. “That poor lonely fellow, sitting in that chair for all that time, mourned only by his faithful mice. Morand, Amatok, are you two plotting another drama?”

Everybody looked up in surprise to see Modhri's ridiculously handsome elder brother standing there, his Palabekan husband at his side. Amatok was holding a recorder, and gave his father-in-law a sheepish smile.

Morand chuckled, and when he spoke, his voice was music. “Many. We can't help it, I'm afraid. We recorded the whole story, and there are _hundreds_ of potentially award-winning vids in such a tale, and here we are, lightyears away from the Studio. My Producer must be in an absolute panic right now, poor fellow, and the fan base even more so. Fortunately, we had the last few episodes of the current season of _Gem of Ekranthos_ finished, so they'll have that much.”

Amatok smiled slyly. “Yes, but we had three more seasons all scripted out and ready to go. He can't replace us, and he knows it; the fans would eat him alive.”

“Hey, that's right, you're the movie star!” Hunk said, perking up. “Are you going to make a movie about us?”

Morand shook his head. “No, or not yet. I want to know whether or not it'll have a happy or sad ending first, and what sort. Also, in order to produce a vid that does you justice, there would have to be a mountain of paperwork and a great deal of legal wrangling, and both Zarkon and Haggar would have to be dead first. One heroic triumph at a time is enough, I feel, and the battle with the Emperor might be easier than dealing with Legal.”

Amatok rolled his eyes and put on a long-suffering expression. “I have nightmares about subclauses. It's all 'party of the first part except where a claim exists by the party of the second part', and so on and so forth from the third through eightieth part if you don't stop them in time, and nobody actually gets to go to a party. We were actually wondering if we could use our talents and connections to help you. The newsnets are largely Empire-controlled, but there are ways around that, and I've always wanted to do a bit of counter-propaganda.”

Morand nodded gravely and leaned on the back of the couch. “You should see the maddened idiots they've got, spewing slander about you and your friends. It's not even convincing slander most of the time—moral iniquity, terroristic proclivities, bad personal hygiene, the usual. It all falls rather flat when you consider just how many soldiers—soldiers that our own forces would have abandoned to die—have returned home safe and sound, and saying that they were treated quite well, all things considered.”

“In addition, that big fight you had in Beronite space is giving them some difficulty,” Amatok said thoughtfully, frowning into the distance. “The Military is refusing to talk about what happened, but rumors are flying thick and fast. Losing the Beronites would have ruined a large section of the Empire, and suddenly, the extermination's off. It's hard to call a person a terrorist when he's just saved the lives and livelihoods of billions. The public just doesn't think a thing because the government tells them to, particularly when there is plenty of evidence to the contrary.”

Shiro smirked bitterly, having had to deal with military propagandists himself in the past. “That's because the public actually has to live with the results. How do you intend to go about it?”

“We were thinking about making a travelogue of it,” Morand said, glancing around the table. “Very simple and low-key, and we would make sure to clear every episode with you and the Blades first, so we don't give anything away. I fully intend upon telling everyone just why we vanished into the stars like that, though. Mother, we are free now, and there is no reason why I should stay silent about Ghurap'Han's treatment of our House any longer.”

Lelannis's face hardened. “No, there is not, is there? That's going to take some getting used to. Allura, would you mind if my sons did this?”

“Not at all,” Allura replied, “although Bantax might have some reservations. Have you spoken with him, Morand?”

Amatok grunted in amusement. “That walking recruitment booth has been speaking with everybody who will listen, hoping for a few more like Morand's great-uncle Zandrus. He's interested, and so is his grim-faced leader, but he knows better to act without the Princess's say-so. It's your House and your Pack, after all, my Lady, and he may not command here.”

Allura smiled, gratified by the respect that she was being shown. “Very good. By all means, go right ahead. It will certainly be an interesting career move.”

Keith waggled a warning finger. “Just don't be too tempted to exaggerate; we're really only heroic when we have our armor on. Just look at Lance, here.”

Lance had been stuffing his face with cake, and had crumbs all down his front. “Hey!” he snapped, spraying more crumbs. “I am heroic all the time! And what about Pidge? She's a gremlin and a mad-scientist-in-training!”

“Yup!” Pidge said proudly.

“Nerd,” Lance humphed.

“ _Hyper_ nerd,” Pidge corrected him, “and you make exciting underwear in your spare time.”

Lance glowered at her. “You will not diss my sewing skills.”

Morand straightened up with a peal of laughter that would have doubled his fan base in a hot second. “That's all right. Our Director doesn't feel that I'm being properly heroic unless I take my shirt off. I've come close to smacking him for that now and again, particularly in winter. Brr! I'm furry, but not _that_ furry. No need to worry, Princess. It will be good for everyone to know that even notorious space adventurers are people, too.”

Pidge grinned. “Yeah, I can agree with that. I just got this comic book about our exploits while we were on Thek-Audha, and it's so bad, it's hilarious.”

Amatok brightened up. “Really? The Indek-Tara Press graphic novel?”

At Pidge's nod, Amatok's expression turned pleading. “Could I read it, please? I had obtained a copy, but Inzera sold my husband, and then we had to leave in a bit of a hurry.”

Hunk smiled broadly. “Sure. It's in the lab, and we need to sort out the other stuff we bought, anyway. You can keep us company, and we can tell you which parts they got almost right.”

“That sounds delightful,” Morand said. “Lead on.”

“Oh, Shiro, it's beautiful,” Zaianne said the following morning, running her fingers over the cover of his book. “I saw a copy of it once in a library, when I was very young. The whole printing was a special edition, commissioned by the author himself, possibly as a gift to his great-grandchildren. Old-fashioned leather-bound hardcopy books like this are very, very rare these days, and after the Ghamparva wiped out the Chalep'Thoras, they burned every one of these that they could find. I'd love to read it when you're done.”

Shiro smiled wryly. “I was going to ask you to teach me how to read it. I can puzzle out a few words of Galran script, but I'm a long way from being fluent. Hunk's translator is nice, but I can't carry it around everywhere I go.”

“A worthy line of study,” she said, opening the front cover. “We might want to bring the others in on this project as well; I've been teaching Khaeth whenever we've had the time, and Lance and Pidge are very quick studies. Hunk and Allura love stories as well, and—ah, yes.”

Her finger traced a page that might have been a chapter index. The characters were rendered in a flowing font that was far more graceful than what he was used to seeing. “It's got all the best ones, I take it?”

“Oh, my, yes,” Zaianne said happily. “And a number of the more obscure tales. I haven't even thought about a few of these since before Thace and I joined the Blade. Aha, and each tale includes an addendum, discussing the history, culture, and mores of the time periods as well. Tandrok did love to get right down into the heart of his research material. He once spent three years living in the Temple of Kuphorosk in the Old Forest as a lay dedicat, the better to peruse the Sacred Archives, and was sorry to have to leave. I don't blame him in the slightest; the Temple is built into a cavern system, and Simadhi do love their caves. This book will be an excellent teaching tool.”

“That's good,” Shiro said, turning over a page. “So, is Galran Standard alphabetic, phonetic, or pictographic, and how many characters does it have?”

“There are actually three or four versions of written Standard,” Zaianne replied, flipping a few more pages and smiling at a rather beautiful illustration of an ancient piece of statuary. “The Military versions are largely pictographic. This book is written in Common Standard, which is strictly for civilian use. It's alphabetic, although we do have more letters than English does, to denote sound forms that Humans don't generally use. Here, let me demonstrate--”

Zaianne pulled a small device out of a belt pouch. “This device nullifies the universal translator. Very helpful when you don't want eavesdroppers.”

She activated it with a faint click, and Shiro registered an odd feeling deep inside his ears, as if a sound too soft to hear had suddenly stopped. Zaianne smiled at him and said, _“T'hnn'gric amet khaloc?”_

She continued for a few more sentences in a rough, growling, glottal-and-fricative-rich tongue that sounded nothing like he'd ever heard before. Just at that moment, Coran stepped in and asked a question in a liquid language, mostly vowel sounds and softened consonants, peppered with clicks. _L_ sounds tended to melt into _r_ and _m_ sounds, too, and _qua_ and _que_ made far more frequent occurrences than in either English or Japanese.

“That's amazing,” he said, making Coran stop mid-word and stare at him. “You know, I'd never even given it much thought. Who invented the translator, anyway?”

Coran wiggled a finger in one ear, frowned at it, and then caught sight of the little device in Zaianne's hand. He gave her his most censorious scowl and began to deliver an irritated lecture in voluble Altean, and Shiro listened in fascinated delight until Allura and Lance came in. Allura asked a question, and Shiro could detect a slight difference in tone and inflection that might have been gender-based; with a mischievous grin, Zaianne replied in cheerful Galran that made both her and Lance stare at her in astonishment. Lance looked puzzled for a moment, glanced at her hand, and then smiled broadly as he began to speak in his native Cuban. Shiro smiled to hear the musical Latin-derived language falling on his ears like a long-lost friend, and replied in his grandmother's best Okinawan Japanese. It was only natural at that point for Keith to come in with Pezzam, as usual, riding piggy-back on his shoulders. They paused for a moment, listening to everyone chattering merrily away in at least four different languages, at which point Keith broke in with, “At-whay's oin-gay on-ay?”

They stopped and stared at him. “Pig Latin?” Shiro asked.

Lance curled his lip. “Dude.”

Keith shrugged. “The only words in Korean that I know were the ones that Dad said when he dropped a crockpot on his foot, and he never told me what they meant, either. What's up?”

Coran started up again, mustache bristling, finger waggling, and looking very put out. Zaianne turned off her little device in the middle of it, and everybody's ears tingled slightly as the spate of peculiar sounds came magically clear. “--worked for decades on it! _Quiznek,_ just trying to decide how much to translate in order to keep the Coalition for the Purity of Languages happy was a headache and a half, what with the bits of any given language that simply won't translate across species lines, and the simple fact that some languages carry more than their fair share of profanity. The Interstellar Decency League was absolutely adamant about keeping the worst of that out, for all that it added decaphebes to the development phase, and they had to build whole new euphemism tables just to be able to render some of those languages translatable! The D'Nookni tongue of Plambat's swamp-dwelling populations was a particular issue, since every third word in that language is considered rude in at least thirty others, including their own. Grand bunch. Very earthy, but they got the point across.”

Shiro cocked an interested look at Coran. “So, it was an Altean project.”

“That's right!” Coran proclaimed proudly. “Put into production for the purpose of fostering fellowship and understanding among the myriad peoples of the Universe, and incidentally, making life much easier for our diplomats. Unseen billions of harmless, universally hypo-allergenic nanomachines, invisible to the unaugmented eye, and powered by discarded skin cells and ear wax. Tremendously useful, plus they keep your hearing apparatus clean and dandruff to a minimum. They're not supposed to have an off switch, Madame.”

“I know,” she said calmly, pocketing the device. “It took the Order's scientists three hundred years to develop one. We were discussing Shiro's book of legends, Khaeth, and the possibility of teaching all of you how to read Galran script.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Allura exclaimed, peering interestedly at the book. “I did enjoy your tale earlier, Zaianne, and perhaps I could teach you all how to speak Altean as well. The Castle has some very good teaching programs, and I think Pidge has spent some time working with them already. We may even have--”

A distant shout echoed through the open lounge door, and something pattered past behind them at knee level, giggling wickedly. Pezzam let out a hoot of delighted laughter and scrambled down from Keith's shoulders, scampering after whatever it was. Most of the younger cubs were down for naps at the moment, and the older ones were at lessons in a few of the Castle's old function rooms, but there were always escapees. One of them was trundling around the room with the kind of greased-lightning trot that toddlers the universe over seemed to share, except that all that could be seen of the brat were a pair of furry little feet. The rest of him had been swallowed up in a very distinctive garment.

“Is that...?” Shiro asked, trying not to laugh at the madly-bouncing pom-pom on top.

“I think it is,” Zaianne replied, chuckling. “Oh, dear. We'll have to see if we can return it, somehow.”

“Good luck getting it away from him,” Coran said cheerfully. “Toddlers are the very devil for making off with things like this. Ah, yes, I remember the days when the Captain of the Guard used to have to lock his dragon-scale jerkin up after he went off duty, or Allura would filch it in a flash. Getting it back was always a problem. We generally had to bribe you with cake, young lady, and your lovely mother knew you were destined for the diplomatic profession when you got to the point where you were collecting more than your own weight in pastry every movement.”

“I shared it with my friends,” Allura stated loftily, and smirked at him. “You got your fair share of the bounty, as I recall.”

Tilwass's peripatetic Jayne hat sped by again with Pezzam in hot pursuit, giggling madly all the way.

“I think he went this way!” they heard Hunk shout, and a moment later, Hunk and Pidge ran into the room, Pidge with her handcomp at the ready.

“Hey, guys,” Hunk puffed. “Did you see a hat run past here?”

“There he goes!” Pidge yelled and took off running, handcomp recording all the way.

Lance grinned. “Found a surprise in the sprockets, huh?”

Hunk wiped his forehead on one sleeve. “Yeah. I put it up on the table, but that rugrat over there climbed up the table leg and stole it. You'd better teach Kevaah how to knit more of those, or Tilwass'll never get it back.”

The hat, Pezzam, and Pidge scampered past them again, squealing with glee.

Lance sighed. “Yeah. And maybe put together a truckload of those noisy toys, too. Actually, have any of you guys seen my space sombrero? I put it down somewhere, and I can't find it.”

There was another wild whoop from across the room, and a blue, broad-brimmed and extravagantly-ornamented hat zipped past like a very small, very ornate flying saucer, this one leading a whole stampede of squeaking cubs. It made a circuit of the room before making a hard right around the crafting table, only to encounter its bobble-topped counterpart in the central area. They stopped, glaring at each other for a long moment, assessing each other's strengths.

“ _Aaaaaiiieeeeeep!”_ the sombrero challenged.

The Jayne hat returned that challenge with a ringing,  _“Eeeeeeek!”_ and charged.

It would have been a lot more impressive if the sombrero's brim hadn't been so stiff and springy; the Jayne hat hit it and bounced off, knocking both cubs backward. Undaunted, they both scrambled to their feet and tried again, with the same result: “Aaaaiiieeeeep!”  _Boing!_ “Eeeeeek!”  _Boing!_ “Aaaiiiieeeeep!”  _Boing!_ And so on, the crowd of cubs cheering them on indiscriminately.

Pidge was slumped against one arm of a nearby couch, laughing so hard that she could barely stand, although the hand that held her handcomp was as steady as a rock. Shiro had the feeling that the video of the battling hats would soon be making the rounds of whatever passed for social media aboard the Castle. Lance squawked in dismay at this rough treatment of his prized souvenier and waded into the fight, grabbing his hat by the crown and pulling it away before the brats could damage it. The de-hatted brat squealed in protest and bit his leg, only to be disappointed; Lance had remembered to put on his shin guards that morning. He reached for the Jayne hat, too, but the cub ducked adroitly away and took off running.

Lance scowled at the escaping hat, and then at the protesting cubs. “All right, fine. I'll make up a whole bunch of noisy toys for you little monsters, and I'll see if I can find a pattern for those knitted hats, but you have to leave the sombrero alone, got it?”

“ _Eeeep!”_ snapped a defiant boy-cub, and bit him on the other shin. _“Grrrgrrrgrrr!”_

Lance vented a disgusted sigh and flopped the sombrero onto his own head; on him, Allura thought with a smile, the rather ridiculous headgear actually looked good, and she watched him fondly as he high-stepped away, his legs bedecked with ferocious cubs. Pidge had succumbed both to gravity and hilarity and had collapsed giggling onto the couch.

Allura chuckled and cast an amused look at the others. “I suggest that we find an unused room for our studies,” she said, watching a curious cub snatch at Pidge's handcomp. “Otherwise, we might never get anywhere.”

Zaianne grinned and shooed another one away from Shiro's book. “Oh, I don't know. Galran has a whole lexicon of words and phrases to describe rambunctious children. Some of them are even polite. There is a sitting room two levels up with comfortable chairs and a table with a holo-projector, and a nice sturdy door that locks from the inside. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes to--”

Allura's wrist-comm went _bleep_ at that moment, surprising everyone. “Yes?” Allura asked.

To their surprise, it was Lizenne, and she sounded tired and frustrated. _“Allura, I'm sorry to ask this of you, but I need your help, and the team's as well.”_

“What happened?” Hunk asked, all amusements forgotten.

“ _I'm trying to find out what killed that colony, and I'm not having much luck,”_ Lizenne replied. _“The Castle has been kind enough to share his medical files with the_ Chimera, _but they contain nothing that even resembles what the scans are telling me. I need Keith and Lance to help me find it, Pidge to help me see how it propagates, the rest of you to search that ship's log for any mention of an unknown disease and to collate the data, and at least three of the new mice in an isolation bubble. Hmm... and Platt and the rest.”_

“For comparison,” Allura said grimly. “I don't like thinking of our little friends as plague-carriers, though.”

Pidge shook her head and dropped her handcomp into a pocket. “It's possible, unfortunately. That's why the _Quandary_ had the Nantileeri aboard, Allura, to catch epidemics before they happened by eating disease-carrying cooties.”

Hunk shuddered. “Yeah. Back on Earth, we've got lots of really bad critter-borne bugs. Dengue, zika, malaria, west nile, lyme disease, murine typhus, hantavirus, bubonic plague, and a ton of others. We've got most of them licked, but they keep on popping up again in odd little corners of the world. Nasty.”

“ _And Earth is not alone in that,”_ Lizenne agreed. _“As much as we might dislike to consider it, there is a chance that the mice might be carrying the culprit, even if they aren't affected by it. Bring Coran along too, I think. He might have heard of something that escaped the researchers.”_

“We'll be right there,” Shiro promised, standing up and picking up his book. “Just give us enough time to get everybody and everything together.”

“ _Take as much time as you need,”_ Lizenne said with a faint, pained grunt, as if she'd been staring at screens for hours on end, and had tried to straighten up. _“I need a moment's rest anyway, and this poor little thing isn't going anywhere. Meet me in the small lab, where I rebuilt Shiro. With any luck, we'll be able to crack this puzzle.”_

It was strange to see the _Chimera's_ labs empty after having been full for so long, but nobody was about to complain about the vacancy. Right now, the isolation chamber currently resting on one of the lab benches was taking up all of their attention. The pitifully small corpse had been removed from its stasis canister and lay in state atop a scanning rest, and just about every analytical device on board was currently aimed at it.

“Oh, that's sad,” Coran said softly, gazing with solemn eyes at the shrouded figure. “I didn't really get a good look at her before. She's terribly small, isn't she?”

Lizenne, who looked as though she'd been up all night at her studies, nodded. “Nearly a _sokesh_ underweight for an average, healthy baby of her age, according to the Castle's files. She was full-term and born to reasonably healthy parents, just... small. I might say that she was a runt, but there is no mention of dwarfism in the records, not even as a rare genetic anomaly. It might be a nutritional issue, but I'm not seeing any signs of malnutrition, either. She was, up until her final illness, a small but healthy child. Just getting her first teeth, too.”

Allura shuddered. “Her mother must have been devastated. Did you find out what killed her?”

Lizenne bared her teeth and flicked a hand at a wall screen, where two views of something lumpy and ugly were displayed. “That was the easy part. Left screen is the archival scan, and the right is the one that the baby had, and as you can see, they're damned near identical. Torequar virus, which was something of a seasonal problem on Altea, right up until the final days; the little bastard mutated so often that a once-and-for-all vaccine was impossible. Symptoms include a high fever, a bad cough, nausea, diarrhea, aching joints, dry skin, temporary hearing loss, light-sensitivity, and it was very dangerous for infants and the elderly.”

“Ooh, I've had that one, once,” Coran said with a shudder. “It was ghastly. The vaccine wasn't much good that decaphebe because some fool had decided to take a vacation on one of the outer colonies, and brought back a strain that pretty much ignored it. Spread like wildfire, it did, and half the Castle's staff was bedridden and wretched with it for two to three movements. Afterward, we had to clean and disinfect the entire ship from bridge to basement, and that was no job for the faint of heart, or for the faint of stomach, for that matter.”

Lance snapped his fingers. “We've got a disease that's almost exactly like that—influenza! That one still kills a lot of people every year, mostly by weakening the system so that other things like pneumonia can move in. We used to dread 'flu season in our house. Mom said that we all went through our own weight in toilet paper and hankies each.”

“And that's what did it for this little girl,” Lizenne said, patting the isolation tank apologetically. “A serious secondary infection had taken root in her lungs, and she just wasn't strong enough to throw it off. Galra have a similar ailment, vahchteg fever, but it's rare these days.”

The mice squeaked mournfully, both from Hunk's shoulders and from the isolation bubble he was carrying. Four brave individuals had volunteered to come along, in hopes of solving a seven-thousand-year-old mystery. Hunk sniffled. “That poor baby. But you said that she had the other thing, too?”

Lizenne let out a disgusted sigh and indicated another screen, which showed a three-dimensional scan of the child's central nervous system. “Whoever entombed her in that stasis bottle should be nominated for sainthood; she's just about pristine, and was barely cold when they sealed it shut. The problem is in her nervous tissue somewhere, but there is no mention of anything like this in the Castle's files. I need to know the symptoms and how they progressed.”

Pidge held up a data card. “I've got the log right here. Want to go through this first, or check out the mice?”

“The mice,” Lizenne said promptly, and with a smile; a thin smile, but a smile all the same. “Some of Modhri's uncles are getting a bit impatient to have them helping out around the house.”

It was the work of a moment to set up a second isolation chamber, and once it was sealed, the internal manipulators released the mice from their bubble. Plachu, Platt, Chulatt, and Chuchule were deposited on the other end of the bench, and subjected to a thorough scanning. Coran peered at the readouts and made a satisfied noise through his mustache.

“Healthy as hilquas, the lot of them,” he proclaimed, “although Platt's a bit overweight for a mouse his size. A few too many cookies there, hmm?”

Platt chirped something that sounded uncomplimentary at him, which made them all smile.

“All right,” Shiro said, “how about the others?”

The four new mice—three normal-sized ones and one of the big ones—squeaked compliantly and held still for the scanners, and Keith studied the readouts in fascination. “That's cool. Hey, check it out, this is evolution in action. See, the paws are a little bigger, and more like real hands. Bigger heads, too, and the teeth are a little different.”

“More cuspids,” Pidge said, “and the big one has something like canines. Wow. Don't let one of those bite you, guys.”

“You're right!” Allura said, one finger tracing a portion of the image. “This part of the gut, here, that's considerably more efficient, and their hearts are larger as well. So are their livers. Living on Mouse World was good for them.”

Lizenne nodded, her eyes on a different screen. “Very good. They bred for quality, and it shows. More to the point, they're not carrying anything compatible with Altean physiology, not even torequar, and they show no signs at all of parasitic infestations. They're ridiculously healthy for a population that's been living in the wild for seven to ten milennia, as a matter of fact. While I can't rule out our mystery pathogen, it is unlikely that they were the vectors of the more common ailment.”

Coran shrugged. “One of the reasons why we and the mice got along so well was that there was never any chance of cross-contamination. They didn't originate on Altea itself, remember; same system, different planet, and we simply didn't catch each others' germs. Match made in heaven, sort of thing. Or possibly by the Ancients. We were never entirely sure which.”

“ _Eeeek!”_ Chuchule said proudly.

“Either way, they'll have to stay in quarantine until we're sure that they aren't the problem,” Lizenne said, cycling a dish of snacks and a water bottle through the tank's little airlock. “Hopefully, we'll be able to clear that up by the end of the day. Let's see what that ship's log can tell us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who leaves comments or kudos. They bolster us when we're feeling down or exhausted, and remind us that there are good people out there when we've made the mistake of spending too much time looking at the news. We love you guys.


	7. Well, That Could Have Gone Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking on it, the title for this chapter is pretty much a motto for this entire year...
> 
> Ugh, this chapter is so, so late. I'm so sorry. Besides the usual holiday season shenanigans (which this year involves the added stress of not being allowed to beat every idiot customer who does not wear their mask properly --or at all-- with my sanitizer bottle) there was also another distraction in that my family had lost one of our cats and then adopted two. The other two cats still in our household did Not Approve.
> 
> In other news, a moment from the store breakroom:
> 
> Co-worker: *sees a book in my hands* Oh, what are you reading?
> 
> Me: Uh... *tries to think of a way to describe my Voltron Klance zine in a way that doesn't make me sound insane to a normal person*

Chapter 7: Well, That Could Have Gone Better

Several hours later, Pidge turned off the recording and handed Hunk and Coran another handful of tissues. “That was grim,” she muttered. “I could see it, it shadowed them for three-freaking-thousand years, and then it took everything. Everything.”

Hunk and Coran blew their noses in stereo, and Coran lifted outraged eyes to the blank screen. “Insidious,” he rasped ominously. “I've heard of a few plagues that were a bit like that, but none of them took so long, or did that much damage. The only one that even came close was a lab-created plague, and Alfor and the others put a stop to that one before it could be deployed! Put up a force-bubble over the entire lab complex and burned it right down into the foundations, too, just to be absolutely sure.”

Lance scowled at his notes. “It might be a combination of things. Remember, right at the beginning, they said that they didn't really have enough people to start a permanent colony, and you could tell that there was a lot of inbreeding going on, especially toward the end.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah. You can get away with that for a while, if you're an Earth-mouse, or a rabbit, or something else small and uncomplicated. It doesn't really fly with people. All the same,  _something_ was making it worse. Remember what that cranky Professor was going on about.”

They considered that. In the early years of Serendipity Colony, it had taken some time to get the farms established and producing, and the people had been forced to supplement their food stores by looking for edibles among the native growths and creatures. One of the colonists, an elderly and very fussy microbiologist, had been horrified by his fellow castaways' habit of just picking things up and taking a bite, often without bringing samples back for study first. Any of those untested foods could have held untold numbers of dangerous chemicals and micro-organisms, and they couldn't count on their alien biology to protect them. His pompous, wild-eyed, half-frantic tirades on that subject had won him no points with his hungry colleagues, who were far more pleased to report upon their successes in finding various leaves, roots, fruits, berries, nuts, and fungoids that were not only nutritious, but very tasty. One item in particular, the mobile semi-fungus, had been particularly well-received and had quickly become a popular delicacy. Not one that could be farmed, unfortunately; like many wild mushrooms, civilization bored them, and they refused to be cultivated.

Allura leaned her elbows on her knees and frowned into the middle distance. “At least we've pinpointed the symptoms, and most of them are neurologic. The loss of aetheric ability. Dementia, psychosis, hallucinations, uncontrollable twitching, memory loss, paranoia, depression, and loss of speech.”

Lizenne tapped her teeth with her stylus. “Yes. Those symptoms are evident in a wide variety of illnesses that affect our sort of life, but not in this manner, and not all together at once. The shortened lifespans, short stature, infertility, and weakened immune systems might have been caused by an increasingly restricted gene pool. What worries me is that the neurologic problem was widespread almost from the beginning. That rules out anything genetic. It had to have been acquired, and locally. Something in the air, perhaps, or the water, or in the soil.”

Hunk blew his nose again. “Or in the food, but it's not usually this bad. Back home, we sometimes have to avoid lettuce or other greens, 'cause somebody's irrigation water was too close to somebody else's pig farm, and people started coming down with salmonella and E. coli. Those are tummy bugs, though, not brain bugs, and the only other place where I've heard of anything like this is over in Southeast Asia, where some military dumbasses thought it might be a good idea to dump tons of a really nasty weedkiller into the forests there. They still haven't gotten it cleaned up all the way. Something wrong, Shiro?”

Shiro had half-twisted around in his chair to look at the 3D model of the neural scan on one of the screens, and looked as though he were trying to remember something important. “No, or maybe not. Lizenne, that image you took of her brain... can you bring it up in cross-sections?”

Lizenne gave him an interested look. “Easily. I spent all last night studying it from every angle that I could think of. Something is wrong, but I can't put my finger on it.”

“Let me look,” Shiro said, standing up.

Altean brains, they discovered a minute later, were very like Human brains in many ways; close enough for their purposes, anyway. There were a few structures that were different, and Alteans seemed to have an extra lobe in there as well, but it had that same crinkly appearance, the same complex folds.

“What do you see?” Lizenne asked.

“I'm not sure,” Shiro admitted, moving his fingers over the controls. “It just seems familiar somehow. Something I read once, or saw on screen years ago. My father was a big fan of the science and history channels, mostly because it let him scoff at how stupid people could be throughout the ages. It was how he worked off stress. I think I may have seen something on one of those documentaries that discussed something similar.”

Allura smiled. “I had an uncle like that. He was very proud of his own mind, and used to shout at people to use theirs, rather than pester him into solving their problems for them.”

“Yeah,” Shiro murmured absently, examining section after section. “This is all about the brain. Something about what it looks like... it was pink. Lizenne, can you get a view of the brain tissue itself, like a microscope slide?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Historical, indeed. Here, like this?”

A few taps on the keys made one of the scanners hum, and an image formed on the screen. It looked mostly like pink, but one side had a spotted appearance that didn't look right at all. “Right there,” Lizenne said, pointing at the multitude of tiny dark spots. “That's what I can't understand, and the Castle's files have no record of it. All of those little dark points are holes, and I have no idea of what might be causing them.”

Shiro hissed. “Spongiform encephalopathy. That's Creutzfeld-Jakob disease, or something a lot like it.”

“Encephalo-what?” Keith asked, looking askance at the peculiar image. “I've never heard of it.”

Shiro shook his head, but didn't look away from the screen. “It's rare. Very rare, and very hard to get, although it can happen spontaneously, and sometimes runs in families. I saw a program once, back when I was still in high school, about the Mad Cow scare of 1993.”

“I heard about that, once, sort of,” Lance said. “On a family camping trip. One of my uncles mentioned it in a scary campfire story, but I never got around to asking what that was all about. I always assumed that the cows got tired of being eaten all the time, and wanted to make Human-burgers out of the farmers.”

“It wasn't anything like that,” Shiro replied grimly. “It's a degenerative brain disorder caused by eating infected nerve tissue. It started in Europe, when farmers started looking for a cheap way to get some protein and vitamins into their cattle feed, and used bone meal made from ground-up cow carcasses from slaughterhouses. That wound up spreading the disease over half the planet, and people who ate contaminated beef got the illness, too. They found another variant of the disease in a Human population, in a primitive tribe that practiced ritual cannibalism.”

Coran uttered a horrified gurgle, Allura went pale, and Lizenne looked distinctly ill. “You Humans practice  _cannibalism?”_ they said in unison.

Keith couldn't help but vent a puff of exasperated amusement, if only for the looks on their faces. “Not anymore, we don't. Not for a very long time. It was really rare even way back when, and nobody talks about eating people unless zombies are doing it. What, you guys have never tried it?”

“Keith!” Allura protested sharply, “there have _never_ been any instances of such filthy behavior among my people, not in our entire history!”

“And it's a lucky thing that we're well out of certain parts of that history,” Coran added, mustache bristling ferociously, “or I'd be forced to challenge you to a duel, sir, to preserve the honor of my people! What an insult! No true Altean would ever even consider snacking on his countrymen, not even if he was really, really hungry. You can't be sure of where they've been, you know.”

Lizenne growled, eyes flashing. “There have been a few instances in Galran history where an individual or a small group had gone mad and started eating their own kind. They were considered monsters, bereft of personhood, and were hunted down and destroyed. No sane Galra will eat man's meat, nor will we eat tainted flesh from a sick beast. You will mind your tongue, young man.”

Hunk gave Keith a sidelong look. “You aren't suggesting that somebody gave that baby a piece of someone's mind, right?”

“Not cool, man,” Lance added.

“Uh...” Keith said, nonplussed by the reaction he'd gotten, and looked to Shiro for help.

Shiro made a soothing gesture. “No, of course not. If the colonists had been doing that, it would have been mentioned in the log. Creutzfeld-Jakob disease is caused by misfolded proteins called prions. Folded proteins occur normally in nervous tissue, but the misfolded ones cause the healthy ones to fold up wrong; this causes signal failure, which causes the neurons to die off. It's an exponential progression and was very difficult to diagnose, and it can kill a victim in as little as a few weeks. They never found a cure for it.”

“Ugly,” Pidge commented.

“Got that right,” Shiro sighed and touched the controls again, returning to the 3D image of the whole cortex. “I refused to touch beef for weeks after I saw that show, just in case, and I had nightmares about it happening to me. Just the thought of catching a degenerative disease still gives me chills. This baby had only the early stages, I think, but you can already see her brain starting to shrivel up around the edges.”

Lizenne reached for the controls. “Let me try something—a molecular scan. I ran one earlier, looking for toxins, but didn't find any. So, let us focus in on the infected areas... hmm.”

The image changed, focusing inward until the screen showed clusters of peculiar objects, all crumpled up into bizarre shapes around the voids in the tissues. Unfamiliar though they were, even Keith could see that the shapes were wrong, and that the wrongness had been spreading.

“Something she ate,” Lizenne murmured. “Something that most, if not all of them ate, but not all of them got the disease; only a few did, at first. It was mostly the older ones in the early years, but that changed as time went on. Exactly how strong is a healthy Altean's immune system, Coran?”

Coran left off glaring at Keith in favor of giving them all a superior look. “Quite strong, indeed. It was a point of pride, in fact. One of Allura's distant ancestors, that would have been Gerfald the Cleanly, once was laid low by a nasty bout of grasshap fever. Big, raw, unbearably itchy rashes, fatigue, dreadful gut cramps, horrible flatulence, couldn't see straight, and his skin turned bright yellow. Poor man, he was flat on his back for nearly a phebe, and wound up missing his own birthday party because of it. Made a full recovery, but it left him profoundly germophobic, and he decreed that no Altean should have to put up with that kind of nonsense any longer. It took some work on the part of the medical profession, but they came up with a process that boosted the population's immune systems to the point where the researchers nearly put themselves out of business.”

Allura nodded. “Aside from a few persistent conditions such as the slipperies and torequar, we just don't get sick very often. Shiro, you and the others have also had some of that treatment, just from those times that you all spent in the medipods.”

“But then you throw in three thousand years of inbreeding and failing medical equipment,” Lizenne said, “slowly unraveling that medical miracle, leaving weak spots in the collective genome and individuals with little or no resistance. But what was the vector?”

Everyone looked at the mice, who squeaked and backed away nervously.

“They wouldn't have eaten the mice,” Hunk said in a sick voice. “They were buddies, and there wasn't any sign of disease in them.”

“Something native,” Pidge said, snapping her fingers. “Probably something that the mice wouldn't eat. Guys, what about those plant samples? Didn't you get a bunch of the native types? There were only two sorts of animals that the colonists could eat, and those had all left the valley by the time that the fields got established. They got enough protein from the native plants to get by, remember? It was mentioned in a few of the log entries.”

“Sort of like alien tofu,” Hunk agreed, “and we had to chase a few of those samples down, too. The native plants are more critter than cauliflower in some ways. Lizenne, where'd you stash those, and can we let the mice loose now? They don't have anything we can catch.”

She shook her head. “Run them all through decontam first, just in case. It won't hurt them, and it'll make me feel better. The plant samples are in the upper cabinets, third from the left. I'll want to see if any of the Altean samples might have incorporated those prion things as well.”

The Altean baby was placed back into her capsule, which was then sterilized and set aside, allowing them to use the isolation chamber to run scans on the dozens of samples that Coran had bullied Lance and Hunk into helping him collect. Sample after sample tested clean, although several of them had certain bacteria, fungi, viruses, small insects, and insect egg clusters that would have to be removed before they could be safely propagated. It wasn't until they came to the last one, a particularly odd-looking example of the native pseudoflora, that they hit pay dirt. More than anything, it looked like a cluster of mushrooms. It was a silvery-orange color with gills as white as angel's wings, and had three stubby little pseudopods at its base; when released from the stasis bottle, it immediately hopped up and began trundling determinedly toward freedom. It apparently didn't see very well, for it splatted face-first into the wall of the tank.

Keith snorted in amusement. “Seriously? Those are edible?”

“The sensors in my suit said as much,” Coran replied. “All standard Altean space-suits are programmed to detect edible items, just in case of emergencies. You never knew when you were about to be marooned on a distant planet, after all, and having something onboard that'll tell you what's lunch and what isn't saves a lot of trouble in the long run. You might also recall that these were frequently mentioned in the ship's log, generally in recipes.”

“And ones that the mice didn't seem to like,” Allura said with a sly smile. “I don't know if you saw it, but in one of the log entries where they talked about such things, I saw a mouse off to one side, looking utterly revolted at every mention of walking fungus.”

They stared at the pseudocreature, which was trying to find a way through the glass. Hunk looked up at the mice in the nearby isolation tank, who were watching the waddling fungus in fascinated disgust. “You guys don't eat these things, right? Something about them smells wrong?”

The four mice made emphatic negative gestures, and the big mouse took it one step further by miming being dramatically ill and flopping over on its back, all four feet rigidly in the air.

Lizenne growled a fearsome oath and directed the tank's manipulators to grab the struggling fungus and hold it still for scanning. Her muttered epithets grew softer and more complicated as she zeroed in on the caps, then on the fibrous core of the peculiar little organism. Eventually, she uncovered long strings of familiar, ugly, crumpled-up shapes.

“ _Thrakaasht ilsha'gar exaka,”_ Lizenne snarled, “there they are. These creatures are using them as a deterrent to predation, much like other fungoids use toxins, which any creature with a sufficiently sensitive nose can smell and avoid. Shiro, are prions affected by cooking? Would stewing them down to feed to a teething baby neutralize them?”

Shiro grimaced in distaste. “No. Most chemical disinfectants won't kill them, either, and they can stay viable outside of the brain for weeks.”

“I won't even ask how your medical researchers found that out,” Lizenne said darkly, and glanced at the stasis jar sitting quietly on the nearby counter, its inhabitant at rest. “I want confirmation; whether it's a single factor or a combination of them, I'll have the truth of it. Team, I will now teach you how to solve a murder mystery when a forensics squad is not available, and you haven't the time to lurk on darkened street corners while indulging in cynical inner monologues. In short, how to read a corpse aetherically.”

“Wait, _what?”_ Lance blurted, horrified. “She can't tell us anything, she's dead!”

Lizenne gave him a weary, sorrowing glance that shut him up. “I know. Her body is fresh enough to remember being alive, Lance, and we are going to follow the shadows that her brief life cast behind it. I need to be absolutely sure; my scanners and gene-analysis units have already told me that she was sadly impaired by lack of genetic diversity and condemned to die before she could walk by a common salad garnish. I  _must know_ whether or not if there are any other surprises that my equipment does not recognize, so that we will not blunder into something disastrous if we need to visit Mouse World again.”

Shiro blinked at her. “Then, why didn't we do that first?”

Lizenne sighed. “Because it's difficult, and depressing, and I had hoped that something might have been left out of the Castle's files.”

Keith gulped. “You've done this before?”

“Once,” Lizenne replied tonelessly, turning away. “On my father's body. He died when I was a girl, and away at school. My Matriarch had neglected to invite me to the funeral, and I was determined to find out what did him in, just in case I had to exact vengeance upon somebody. I had to break open his tomb to do it, and I damned near killed myself getting the answer. Before you ask, it was his heart. He was a good man, but not strong, and he had been quietly ignoring a medical issue that nobody had bothered to check him for. I will not lose another loved one to ignorance.”

That struck something deep within Keith's heart; he'd lost his own father to pretty much the same thing. “Let's do this.”

Lizenne nodded, beckoning to the other Paladins. “Yes. And as a reward, we will take a break in the envirodeck afterward, to clear our heads. It's wet in this season, but I doubt that any of us will care.”

Shiro suddenly felt a deep yearning for the sweet breeze in the yellow grasses, and saw similar longing in the faces of his friends. “A little rain won't hurt us,” he said, and stepped up to the bottle on the counter. “So, how do we do this?”

“It isn't any more complicated than looking into a live person, or into the Mindscape, for that matter,” Lizenne said, taking the bottle and putting it down next to the mice's isolation tank. “It's just not as easy. Without anyone in it, a body is just a lump of pure matter, and will be as dense and heavy as clay. Lance, Keith, you have already experienced something like that, when you funneled Shiro into his new body.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, and it tried to go bad on us.”

“The fresher the body, the easier it is to read,” Lizenne informed them. “It gets progressively harder when it begins to decompose. We're very lucky in that we aren't trying this with a skeleton. Poor Calb's bones might have given us a great deal of information, but it would have taken us days of hard work to extract it.”

Allura shuddered, remembering the sad words of the colony's last survivor. “Indeed. Should we approach this as a circle-session?”

“That would probably be the best way to do it,” Lizenne admitted. “Very well then. The Pack has found a dead child, people. We must discover precisely what made it that way.”

Once again, that was all that it took. The physical world faded away as their powers linked up, beginning the eternal cycle of energies that passed through them in an unbreakable pulse, around and around, like blood through veins. Living blood, hot with vital forces, and in the center of that circle now was a tiny huddle of old, old death that could have also have happened just yesterday. The dichotomy was peculiar, but not disorienting.

_Very gently, now,_ the lone golden figure of their tutor murmured.  _Strength isn't the key here; what we want is focus. Now, reach out..._

It was nothing like Shiro's empty body had been, on that fateful day when they had brought their team leader back from the dead. That had been functionally alive, if empty, and in perfect health. This poor child was dark and cold and abandoned, still flickering with the residue of the fever that had killed her. And damaged, they soon found. The very fabric that made up the structure of the body itself had been weakened at the very warp and weft. The whole framework was starting to come apart, not at the seams, but thread by thread in an all-over unraveling, and the void left by the vanished soul was a deep and terrible abyss.

_This is awful,_ Hunk complained.

Pidge emoted a queasy agreement.  _This is worse than Rover was. At least he had something like a life. She never had a chance, and now it's all starting to come down._

_You should see what a two-month-old corpse looks like from this angle,_ Lizenne said grimly.  _Zoom in, now, and as deeply as you can. Keith, Lance, Pidge, to me; this is more our skill set than that of the others._

There were no words to describe exactly how they inspected the tiny body, but Pidge would later explain that she'd used a scanning electron microscope as a handy metaphor. From that perspective, everything came up with the uncluttered clarity of a perfect grayscale image. Lance used his stranger senses to seek out damage and invaders while Keith sought toxins and pathogens; Lizenne identified their finds while Allura, Hunk, and Shiro provided support. When they were done, they took a look at the new mice, and with some considerable relief. The mice were gloriously alive, warm and easy to see into, and wonderfully healthy. They were indeed carrying a few species of microscopic stowaways, but the team found nothing there that the decontam chambers couldn't handle. The session took only a short time, but when they came out of it, they were all sweat-soaked and breathing hard. And alone; Coran and their mice had gone off somewhere.

“Nothing,” Lizenne said, but there was a hint of grim satisfaction in her voice. “The child had a touch of diaper rash and a few other irritants, but that was all. Just the virus, the lung infection, and the prions, and an overbred immune system that was not able to deal with any of them, much less all three at once.”

She paused a moment, sniffing at the air, and she was not alone in that. “Popcorn?”

Footsteps rang on the floor outside of the lab, and they all looked up to see Modhri, bless his heart and hide, ambling in with a hovercrate full of food, including two huge tubs of fluffy, starchy kernels. He smiled at their avid gazes and said, “Coran told me what was going on. Did all go well?”

Allura nodded, but didn't look away from the popcorn. “We know what caused the colony's end, and what the vector was. The mice will be perfectly safe after decontamination.”

Modhri hummed approvingly. “Good. Wash your hands and faces, everyone, and eat your lunch. I'll see to the mice while you refresh yourselves. Should I alert Kevaah and Erantha that you will be taking an excursion? Coran intends to take a dip in the marsh, and is getting ready.”

“Please do, and thank you, Modhri,” Lizenne said, staring hungrily at the lelosha wraps.

“You're welcome,” he said mildly, moving over to the isolation tank and reactivating the transport bubble. “I'll join you, too, I think. The venadra flowers are blooming, the blue-leaf trees are fruiting, and the winter herbs are at their best right now. You'll want to check the ocorru stands for atambriac caps, and... ye gods, what sort of mushroom is that?”

The Mouse World killer mushroom was jumping up and down now, poofing spores all over its tank in a pale-yellow mist. Allura looked upon the thing with pure loathing. “That's the vector of the disease. So long as we don't eat it, we're relatively safe.”

Modhri frowned at the bouncing organism. “Perhaps, although I doubt that the spores are harmless. That's not something that I will willingly share a ship with.”

Lizenne ran her fingers over the scanner controls. “And for good reason. The spores themselves have none of the active agent within them, but they grow into things that do. I will keep a sample for further study, perhaps to find a cure for that disease, but the adult growth will go straight into the incinerator, and its tank will be cleansed thoroughly and recycled. We are in daily contact with cubs, Modhri. I will take no chances.”

“So noted,” he said, running a sterilization sequence on the mice's isolation tank and lifting out the bubble. “Eat, and perform what actions are necessary. We will meet you in the envirodeck's antechamber.”

Hunk brushed at his arms, feeling vaguely unclean. “How about I set up the lab's decontam frame?”

Shiro scratched at his chest, feeling no less grimy. “Please do.”

Modhri nodded approvingly and carried the encapsulated mice away to rejoin their fellows.

The anger of the Matriarch was a winter gale, tightly contained; nevertheless, the air near her person was dangerous to breathe, and the very walls hummed faintly in reaction to her presence. Even her closest subordinates walked three paces behind her, unwilling to come within arm's reach when she was in this mood. The Sentries that had been positioned at intervals along the walls shifted slightly, responding to the threatening aura emanating from the tall woman with the scarred face, but she ignored them and continued onward. Inzera was well-aware of her rights, and she, by damn, intended to see those rights honored.

The marks on her right cheekbone tingled painfully for a moment as well, but she ignored that, too. Despite several sessions in the House's best-quality healpod, the burns left by Tzairona's ghost refused to heal fully, and remained livid on her otherwise perfect face. On one distant and disregarded level of herself, she was aware that in the ancient days, a person who had been marked thus by the dead would have been expelled from the Pack, be they never so highly-ranked; the anger of the dead brought terrible misfortune that could easily spread to consume the entire family. Inzera scorned such superstition, and no one in her House had dared to challenge her. She still held her rank, and a great deal of privilege in Galran high society. House Ghurap'Han had suffered a theft, and the usual procedures for recovering stolen items had proven useless. Worse than useless; not only had the Core Worlds Patrol Fleets failed to capture the thieves, but refused to even attempt a pursuit. Some nonsense about alien attacks upon vital factory worlds, or so she had heard, and that was unacceptable. Aliens minded their manners within Core Worlds space, for were the Patrol ships not manned by the best of the best? Factories could be repaired, even rebuilt without too much trouble, and the Empire swarmed with potential assembly-line workers. There was only one House Khorex'Var, however. They had been spirited away, and she wanted them back.

Lady Inzera Ghurap'Han had spent nearly thirty years getting precisely what she wanted, and wasn't about to be thwarted now.

Under the force of that determination, the guards at their stations near the throne room doors melted out of her way. It was a point of pride that no man could withstand her will, and a part of her still burned in fury that a mere exiled son of the subordinate House—bolstered, no doubt, by the powers of her disgraceful grandniece—could look her in the eye and not back down. They would pay dearly for their defiance. All of them would, and she herself would wield the whip that taught them their manners.

Fearlessly, Lady Ghurap'Han swept into the throne room, and cast cold eyes upon the Emperor himself. _Golrazi,_ she thought irritably to herself. She'd never really found much to admire in the Golrazi. They were stubborn, stiff-necked, conservative in all of the wrong ways, and arrogant with it. It was not the man himself that she was loyal to, but the power that he represented, and one day, she knew, a different man would hold it. She could see the truth of that, as a matter of fact, for all that the armored figure on the Throne looked just as potent as ever. She had heard rumors of instability, and knew full well the Golrazi tendency toward madness in their advanced old age. She could see the cracks in his aura, and the measures that had been taken to hold those cracks closed. Inzera's eyes flicked to the hunched and hooded figure that stood beside the Throne. Haggar had great strength, and her reputation was a dangerous one. Inzera knew that she would have to be careful, and to act without hesitation if things did not go well. She'd surprised them, at least; the Emperor's secretaries had not granted her perfectly reasonable and rightful request for an audience, and so she had come anyway. Her problems would soon become his problems, after all. For tradition's sake, Inzera and her entourage bent the knee before their sovereign, and waited for his acknowledgment.

“Lady Inzera Ghurap'Han,” Zarkon's deep, deceptively mild voice boomed through the air; at least he sounded interested. “Rise, and tell me why you have interrupted an important report.”

Inzera swept to her feet, leveling a sharp look at a nearby General, who backed away a couple of steps before he remembered his own status. “A matter of consequence, your Majesty,” she said in a clear, carrying voice. “Your enemies have become my own personal enemies; none other than the Rogue Witch herself has taken advantage of the alien attacks upon our home space, and has struck a blow at my own House; she and her associates have--”

“I am aware.” Zarkon leaned back in his throne and looked upon her with an indifferent gaze that made her boil inside. “My own informants tell me that she, her man, and a division of the Blade of Marmora stole the entirety of your indentured House out from under your nose, seemingly without difficulty. What they have not been able to tell me was exactly how they were able to arrive and remain undetected, or why your House did not immediately alert the Patrol.”

Inzera narrowed her eyes at him, an action that brought her a return glare from the Emperor's witch. “All detectors and lines communication were jammed,” she said stiffly, unused to being treated like an inconvenience by anyone. “They had some sort of Artificial Intelligence with them, claiming to be a Dyrchoram hypergrid-enhanced AI. Such things are a myth. It is commonly known that both the Blades and the Green Paladin are very skilled where technology is concerned, and I would not put it past them to construct a convincing artifice with such capabilities. Either way, we could not call for help until they had left.”

“They are not myths,” Zarkon said quellingly. “I spoke with several in my youth. Moreover, I have received reports that one might well have survived. There is a reason why I have suppressed the creation of such constructs. State your reason for being here, Inzera, and then leave. Your concerns are not important at this time.”

Inzera's temper flared; she had killed men for less before this. “House Khorex'Var has been stolen from me,” she said in a deadly voice. “The Patrol failed to capture the thieves, and they refused to pursue them beyond the boundaries of Core World space. That House provided the bulk of the designers, engineers, and technical staff that worked at Nelargo Shipyard, your Majesty. Specifically, the section that designed and constructed the ships used by the Ghamparva. The Ghamparva fleets have suffered sharp reductions of late; if Khorex'Var is not returned to their rightful places, there will be no more Ghamparva-grade ships. The choice is yours, Majesty. Either you tell the Patrol to do their job and stop dithering over a lot of expendable mining rigs and small-appliance factories, or Khorex'Var will be building ships for the Ghost Fleet.”

Zarkon vented a long, faintly amused rumble before turning to a tall, narrow figure lurking unobtrusively by one wall. “Tashrak. I assume that you have something to say regarding this claim.”

The Lieutenant-Commander of the Ghamparva stepped forward with a thin, anticipatory smile on his face. “I do, Majesty, and a number of things. We discovered a very interesting cache of data at Nelargo Shipyard recently, and have been investigating that information since the raid. What it has uncovered has been fascinating. Were you aware, Majesty, that House Khorex'Var is descended from none other than Tzairona Ghurap'Han, who came so close to assassinating you when you were first making your claim upon the Empire? You had our own Order's precursors abandon her in Gantarash space as fodder for those animals, as I recall. Furthermore, it is written right into Ghurap'Han's bylaws that if a descendant of hers should find the body and bring it home, Khorex'Var would legally be freed. It is also widely known, is it not, that the Rogue Witch's man is Khorex'Var, my Lady?”

“It is,” Inzera said reluctantly.

Tashrak nodded. “A record of Ghurap'Han's House security and comm records has also been uncovered. The Rogue Witch contacted the House shortly after arrival, but no attempt was made to summon the authorities until well after their lander had touched down on the House's private landing yard, and no attempt was made to detain the visitors. Furthermore, three members of House Ghurap'Han left with Khorex'Var. Dissent among the ranks, perhaps, Lady Inzera?”

Inzera had gone pale with fury under her fur, and no little fear as well.

“Two children and a young woman,” Inzera ground out. “Kidnapped!”

“That is not what the Captain of your Household Guard told us,” Tashrak said lightly. “Nevertheless, your own House records show that a body that was proven to be that of Tzairona Ghurap'Han was present; legally, you have no claim on that House any longer.”

“But... but your ships!” blurted one of Inzera's followers; as one of her own sons, he was used to a certain lifestyle, and the loss of Khorex'Var would take it all away. “You will soon be facing rebel craft equal to your own, or better!”

Tashrak looked down his long nose at the nervous nobleman with a superior smirk; career soldiers have little love for aristocrats. “I doubt that. A simple check of the House's business records reveal that in order to build such craft, one must have mining operations, refineries, foundries, and highly-specialized shipyards, to say nothing of fuel, services, and supplies. It took over a decade, even with unlimited resources, equipment, and manpower to build Nelargo, and even today it still requires several months to build a single new construction dock. I very much doubt that the Ghost Fleet can provide the capital for even a fraction of that network. They will have no such ships from Khorex'Var hands.”

“And your own?” Inzera asked icily, vowing inwardly to skin her Guard Captain alive, along with anyone else who might have been telling Tashrak tales.

There are other geniuses besides them,” Tashrak replied smugly. “Master Engineer Meksant himself has recently completed the blueprints for seven new classes of fighting craft, each of them equal or superior to anything your Shipyard has as yet produced. They will also take considerably less time to construct, and will be a good deal less expensive. All we need is a Shipyard with equipment suitable for the purpose of building them. Sufficiently experienced workers are easily obtained.”

“No,” Inzera choked out, barely able to breathe around the violent emotions raging within her.

Zarkon made a faint _chuff._ “I take it that Nelargo would be ideal.”

“With a little reconfiguration, yes, Majesty.” Tashrak waved a hand at the stars visible behind the Throne. “As the Lady herself mentioned, we have suffered considerable losses to our fleets, and would like to rebuild as soon as may be.”

“No other Shipyard will do?” Zarkon asked.

Tashrak shrugged. “There are a few others that will serve, but Nelargo will allow us to implement the program soonest. We would have chosen Atelka, but that's still being rebuilt. Damage caused, I believe, by that same Rogue Witch.”

“She was in a Saranto cluster ship,” Inzera snapped, “and that raging fool of a warship captain fired on it--”

“Silence.” Zarkon's voice was not loud, nor did it betray temper, but there was something about it that shut them all up. “It will serve the Empire better to place Nelargo Shipyard in the hands of the Ghamparva, and as of this moment, House Ghurap'Han is no longer recognized as a High House.”

Lady Inzera and her sons shouted protests, but Zarkon cut them off with a wave of his hand. “It has come to my attention that the House has been failing in its duties to me for some time; your Line produces fewer strong witches than it should, and the sons of the Line are no longer competent businessmen, scholars, scientists, soldiers, or craftsmen. Khorex'Var has been filling that void for your Line for too long, and now they are gone. The one strong witch that you were able to produce in recent years is now working against the Empire, and you neither acted to neutralize her when you had the chance, nor have you bothered to aid the Military in seeking her out.” He gave Inzera a cold stare out of pale eyes. “It has also come into my knowledge that a number of the House's members have been instructing their underlings to address them as 'Hap'Ghurap'Han', a royal appellation that they have no right to. I do not tolerate that sort of ambition, and I do not tolerate treason.”

A motion of one Imperial hand brought Sentries to surround the frightened nobles. “You will be--”

Inzera let out an unholy screech of rage and terror and lashed out with a mage-whip that sliced the Sentries in half. Eyes blazing, she set her sights upon the Throne and let fly with a bolt of furious energy intended to reduce the Emperor to a small pile of embers. It might have, or perhaps not; either way, the attempt was futile, for Haggar caught the bolt in one hand and grinned ferociously at Inzera before sending it back. Inzera teleported aside, the bolt blasting a trench in the decking and sending her sons scrambling for safety. She responded with a fusillade of bright needles the moment she came out again, perhaps instinctively realizing that Haggar was the greater foe. Either way, every man with any sense got out of their way, although Zarkon merely rested his chin on one fist and watched the show. Mage-battles were rare, after all, and this was a fairly good one. This event was actually fortuitous; Haggar had not had a proper battle with a strong witch in a very long time. Quite a strong witch, he thought, as a sizzling bolt missed taking Haggar's head off by inches, and blasted another Sentry to pieces.

Not strong enough, of course; Haggar laid her low a few minutes later with a dark burst that made his armor rattle. Not a lethal blow, he noticed. Inzera was alive, but was in no shape to continue the fight. A glance up showed that his Generals had had the sense to detain Inzera's hangers-on.

“It seems that Ghurap'Han still produces strong witches,” he said thoughtfully, “but has been concealing them from us. Have you a use for such?”

Silly question, of course. Haggar could _always_ use more Druids. She smiled. “Of course, my Lord. I would like to assess their strengths myself.”

Zarkon nodded. “Tashrak.”

“Majesty?” the Ghamparva asked.

“House Ghurap'Han is to be extirpated. Save out the adult and adolescent females for Haggar, but the rest are to be killed. It will serve to remind the other High Houses of their manners.”

“Bring me a selection of the best physical specimens from among the men as well, Tashrak,” Haggar commanded. “I have a project in mind.”

Tashrak's eyes lit up with dreadful anticipation. “I will see to it myself, Majesty, my Lady. _Vrepet Sa.”_

“ _Vrepet Sa,”_ Zarkon responded, watching Tashrak directing the Sentries in removing Inzera and her sons. After a moment's thought, he turned to one of his Generals. “Are there any of House Khorex'Var serving in the Military, Teraag?”

The burly Kedrekan flinched at being singled out like that, and shrugged. “I don't know, Majesty. I'll find out.”

“Good,” Zarkon said with a glance at Haggar; she was still smiling, and wisps of dark mist were emanating from her robes. “If you find any, have them brought to the Center. I expect that we will find a use for them.”

General Teraag gulped, but offered the proper bow and salute. “Yes, Majesty.”

Zarkon nodded. “General Ortash; you were delivering a report. Continue.”

Nervously, General Ortash complied.

Unremarked among the other officials, General Pendrash and Kerraz stood quietly and listened until the Emperor dismissed them, and then headed back to Pendrash's office. They did so in silence, knowing too well how closely the public areas were watched. Only when they were in the relative safety of the office, and only when he had run a scan for surveillance devices did the old veteran speak.

“Kerraz,” he said, sinking wearily into his chair and knowing that the other High Houses would soon be in an uproar, “alert the family. We can do that much for them.”

Kerraz was still vibrating with shock and horror. He'd heard of dooms dealt to other Lineages like this, but had never expected to witness one himself. “Sir... over a thousand people! Many of them children!”

Pendrash motioned him toward the secure comm-set. “Perhaps a few of them will escape if they are told in time.”

Kerraz leaped for the comm and followed the order he had been given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for that...
> 
> See you all next chapter, which I will do my best not to be so crazy late on this time! Stay safe, stay sane, and if you can't do either, at least make sure you get a damn good story to tell your grandkids out of it!


	8. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flings chapter at y'all and is then dragged back into holiday retail hell*

Chapter 8: Learning Curve

“Neline will want me back soon,” Kevaah said uncertainly as he and Erantha followed Modhri and Coran through the docking tube. “She is a demanding woman.”

Modhri smiled, knowing without turning around that Erantha would be flicking Kevaah a warning glance right now; Kevaah had quickly become that particular girl-cub's favorite adoptive elder brother since they had shared a papasan during that wonderful storytelling night, and she was most often seen riding on the young man's shoulders whenever she wasn't eating, sleeping, or bullying her own brothers. As a result, the fierce little cub had been monopolizing much of Kevaah's time, and Modhri found it hilarious that Erantha was envious of a baby. “She'll live. You deserve a little recreational time as well, you know, and Lizenne has been meaning to get everybody into the envirodeck for the past few weeks. This is too good an opportunity to pass up; she and the Paladins have achieved a victory—small, but very significant, and a good run through the grasses will be good for us all.”

“And a nice dip in the marsh,” Coran said happily, resplendent in his bathrobe and fluffy slippers and carrying a couple of towels over one arm. “What a privilege it is, to have a nice shallow lagoon to splash about in, and with such a pretty view! Haven't experienced anything quite like it since Alfor took us all up to the Terecoria Springs Spa for a vacation trip, way up in the Sabarlou Highlands where the air was pure, the wind was brisk, and the nearby volcano hardly ever did more than produce some very nice hotsprings. Seven solid days of soaking our weary bottoms in hot, mineral-rich water, gentle exercise in the nature park, quiet time in the meditation gardens, and getting massages from highly-trained and muscular professionals. The food was good, too. We all had a lovely time, so much so that we had to bring in a crane to hoist Blaytz out of the water. He really didn't want the fun to end.”

“I take it that times were difficult,” Erantha said.

Coran waggled a hand. “Well, we'd spent the last phebe and a half keeping two militaristic consortiums from destroying each other and everyone around them, made sure that a very important royal marriage went off properly, and then had to halt two others. Got called in special for those by the ministerial councils of both worlds, and for good reason. In one of them, the royal personage was trying to marry himself. Not a good idea at all under most circumstances, and downright disastrous for that bunch—they're hexaploid, and need six participants to get a Royal Heir. The other one was a bit weird, and inbred enough to have popped up some odd preferences. The chosen bride had been picked out of a furniture warehouse, rather than from the available pool of eligible partners. One really shouldn't have intimate relations with cabinetry, you know. Having to crown an end-table as king later on gets to be terribly embarrassing. We also deposed a tyrant, defeated an army of really nasty religious extremists, chased off a space monster, and had Blaytz's horrible old maiden auntie over for a movement-long visit. Most of that was same-old, same-old, but that vicious old termagant was the worst. Absolutely impossible to please, and she made a point of terrifying the entirety of the Castle's staff every varga on the dot.”

Erantha smiled thinly. “I know of a few ways to discourage that kind of behavior.”

“Wouldn't have worked,” Coran said darkly. “The old dear had been a special operative in her youth, and was quite immune to all tranquilizers and most poisons by then, and it wasn't safe to be in the same room with her when she had so much as a teaspoon at hand. Zarkon and Alfor were scared silly of her, and she drove poor Gyrgan to tears twice, just by glaring at him! Blaytz was mortified to the point of incapacitation, and even Melenor declared that she wouldn't be caught dead in the same room as that woman after the first day. It wasn't until Trigel got tired of her attitude that things came to a head. That was during a tea party, and what happened between the two of them over the _petites-fours_ that day was the stuff of legend.”

“Oh, dear,” Modhri murmured.

“You could say that,” Coran continued, twirling his mustache. “End result: two sideboards smashed, the silver tea service rammed through a whole bank of furniture, one unlucky server stapled to the wall with his own sweetener tongs, the chandelier hurled right through the window, tea and cake absolutely everywhere, including the walls, ceiling, and halfway down the hall. Trigel sprained a wrist, and the old lady left in a huff and swore never to come back. Everybody felt that it was worth the mess just for that, and the kitchen staff practically deified the Green Paladin on the spot.”

Kevaah puffed a laugh. “Many peoples find Paladins to be worth worshiping. Ours can make cake.”

Even Erantha couldn't dispute that. Hunk's morlaberry cake was worth a prayer or two.

The lift took them down to the envirodeck's anteroom, where they were joined a little time later by Lizenne and the team, decked out even as Modhri was in their hunting leathers, and Lizenne had brought along a pair of large baskets.

“Is everybody ready?” she asked, handing one basket to Modhri. “We're in the best part of the winter rains right now, and it's very pretty in there. Tilla and Soluk have already gone in for a run, so we'll have company.”

“I was born ready,” Hunk said cheerfully. “Let's go on in, we've earned it.”

A few minutes later, they found that “very pretty” had been a vast understatement.

Several weeks of sweet rain had worked an ancient magic upon the little piece of Zampedri that took up most of the _Chimera's_ inner space, and everybody drew in huge lungfuls of clear, cool, sparkling-clean air. Gone were the charred hills and empty waterways that Lance had described, for the earth had responded to the turning of the seasons with remarkable vigor. New grass had sprung up from every inch of ground that wasn't bare rock or claimed by trees and bushes and was already shoulder-high in spots, glowing a tender yellow-green under the winter sun that looked as delicious as it smelled. The berry thickets had revived already and had put out explosions of many-colored flowers that were loud with pollinators, and the trees were sending out great vanes of cobalt-colored foliage and big clusters of turquoise fruit. From where they stood near the door, the Paladins and their companions could see that the little rivers were in full spate and the many little ponds had flooded, and that the marsh had grown to twice its usual size. Encouraging those waters were dozens of miniature thunderstorms that sailed the “sky” like ships out of a fairy tale, each one girdled by rainbows as they drew their private deluges behind them. Some of those rainbows seemed to have gotten snagged on the rock ridge, for every crag glittered like an explosion in a prism factory. Birdsong mingled with distant thunder and the singing of the wind in the grasses, and something in the distance went _gronk._ A moment later, they saw the two dragons gallop easily out of the hills toward them, water droplets spraying like crystals from the young grasses.

“Wow,” Hunk said summing it up concisely.

“It's beautiful,” Shiro breathed, absently tugging at the laces on his breeches; he'd bulked up some since the last time he'd worn his hunting leathers, and had had to make some adjustments. “I've never seen anything quite like it. It looks... almost delicate, somehow.”

Lizenne chuckled. “Not hardly. Remember, all of this evolved to withstand the antics of much larger beasts than we actually have here, and this is the mating season for most of them. Believe me, anything broken in this season will grow back almost instantly. That's just as well, because the dragons look to be feeling frisky. Oh, dear. Are you all right, Kevaah?”

The dark-furred man was staring around in openmouthed astonishment, trying to take it all in at once and quivering slightly with the effort. “I... have never beheld anything like this,” he whispered. “I have seen many hydroponics decks, even garden decks. I have spent much time with Bessie. I have been on planets, but only in cities. I have heard the words 'plains' and 'grassland' and 'hills', but I did not understand them. It is so very _rich.”_

Modhri smiled and rested a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “It is. We'll take you to visit the true Zampedri one day, and you will know this place to be a pale echo of the planet it mimics. For now, though, this will do nicely.”

A covey of some sort of chicken-sized birds burst into the air ahead of the oncoming dragons, the light glinting off of golden feathers as they strove for height. Kevaah made a thin, eager sound in the back of his throat at the sight of them.

“Easy, buddy,” Lance said, knowing how powerful Kevaah's instincts were. “I'm sure that Lizenne will take you hunting soon.”

“To hunt,” Kevaah whispered, eyes following the birds as they soared off toward the marsh. “To _truly_ hunt. I have hunted enemies only, and one cannot eat those. To kill what one cannot eat is... wasteful.”

“Calmly, now,” Lizenne said soothingly, “and don't bother yearning after those birds. They're pretty, but we can't digest them. We'll show you better things in a little time. For now, we greet the dragons.”

“And here they come,” Erantha murmured.

Soluk and Tilla were definitely feeling the benefit of the season, tossing their huge horned heads playfully as they loped up. Everybody got a good sniffing-over and a few friendly licks and nuzzles, which made Keith laugh. “Yeah, I'm sorry, Tilla,” he said, rubbing the dragon's scaly nose. “It's just been so crazy lately that we haven't had any time to really play with you guys.”

Tilla grumbled admonishingly and nipped at his hair, tugging a lock of it to tell him how naughty he was for neglecting his duties. _“Gronk,”_ she told him sternly, a sentiment that was echoed by Soluk. _“Gronk!”_

Shiro smiled broadly and turned to Soluk, reaching for the big shoulder spikes. “Well, we're here now, and we can fix that. Want to go for a run, big guy?”

Soluk grunted eagerly and extended a foreleg, and he was up and astride the dragon's shoulders in seconds. Tilla was perfectly happy to extend the same courtesy to Keith, who accepted it in a flash, and the dragons turned and charged away the moment that he'd gotten settled.

Kevaah watched them go with wondering eyes. “Do I get a turn as well, I wonder?”

Pidge grinned at him. “Hang around long enough, and it's guaranteed. So, what do we do now?”

“That depends upon you,” Modhri said, shouldering the basket that Lizenne had given him. “Lizenne and I need to prospect for early herbs and berries. Particularly the berries—you and Erantha have been going through my jams and jellies at a terrific rate, and I need to make more or Hunk will pout.”

Hunk demonstrated that most devastating of expressions, causing rather sheepish smiles in the two young women, and making the others grin at them.

Lizenne indicated the copses of blue-leaf trees with a knowledgeable hand. “In this season, the fruits of the trees are very good for that purpose, and can also be made into a tasty but powerful spring wine. The best ones are to be found on the hilltops above the marsh, and the least you ladies can do is to help us pick them.”

Allura shook her head and indicated Coran, who was casting yearning glances at the glimmering marsh. “Coran and I will both be in the marsh. I've been so stressed lately that my skin feels like sandpaper, and I expect that his is just as bad, or worse! Will we have to beware of anything in this season, Lizenne?”

Lizenne nodded. “Right about now, there are parasites in the mud that will want a taste of you, for all that it wouldn't do them a bit of good. To discourage them, look for clumps of a low, dense plant growing near the water's edge. It will have round, gold-flecked leaves about the size of a ten-gac coin, and clusters of black-spotted pink berries. Crush a few handfuls of those into the water as you settle in, and the parasites will leave you alone. If you do pick up a bug or two, squeeze the ends of their tails to make them let go, and then dab the bite with juice from those same berries. Don't try to eat the berries, they taste dreadful, and spread the spent pulp on the banks when you're done. I've been meaning to extend that berry patch, and could use the help.”

“Thank you, Sister Dearest, we will take that advice,” Coran said cheerfully, turning to leave. “Come, Princess, the marsh awaits! Do break a path for me, please, I'd rather not shred my dressing gown.”

Hunk nudged Lance, who was watching a tiny thunderstorm bathe a stretch of grassland on the other side of the deck. “Not going with them? I'd have thought that you would want to squish around in the mud again.”

Lance waved a negative at him. “Maybe later. I've sort of been wanting to check out the rivers, or maybe a pond. I haven't gone fishing in ages.”

Lizenne pointed up at the hills behind the marsh, between that body of water and the rock ridge. “Up there,” she said firmly. “The currents in the rivers are far too swift for anything smaller than Tilla at the moment, but just beyond the rocks is my personal favorite among the ponds. It's home to a colony of large, red-faced fish that are particularly tasty, and there are edible water plants as well. You'll have to be careful of the echeracs, though. They're about hand-sized and resemble flat, rounded, reddish river rocks, but they're actually a sort of freshwater crustacean. They don't like being bothered, and they will try to remove your fingers if you put a hand on one by mistake. No, Hunk, they aren't edible.”

“Aw,” he said, sounding disappointed, but brightened up at another thought. “Hey, if we all go up there, can we see what's making the rocks sparkle like that? Ooh, and I can see something grazing in those little valleys, too. What are those?”

Modhri smiled at his nephew. “Let's go and find out.”

It was an easy walk, and an entertaining one; Kevaah in particular was in awe of everything around him, allowing Erantha to cast him superior glances whenever he exclaimed over something new. The steep little valleys between the hills had plenty to exclaim over in any case, from the masses of flowering plants to the myriad of small strange creatures feeding and competing for mates, and strange organisms that were only seen at this time of year. At the bottoms of the deeper valleys, tiny seasonal wetlands were loud with activity as Zampedri's equivalent of frogs, salamanders, large insects, and small marsh birds celebrated the rains with their traditional noisy orgies. Along the way, they stopped at each copse of blue-leaf trees so that Pidge and Erantha could shinny up the smooth boles and bring down clusters of ripe fruit for Lizenne's and Modhri's baskets. It wasn't until they reached the highest hill, directly above the marsh, that the view became really interesting; far and away, they saw Shiro and Soluk charging at a full gallop across the plain, seemingly just for fun. Coran and Allura were visible below, already settled happily into the mud and apparently enjoying themselves. Keith and Tilla were not in sight, but that didn't matter as much as what was grazing in the valley itself.

“Atinbuk,” Lizenne said, admiring the well-grown, golden-furred animals, which were about the same size as mule deer, only with six legs, fearsome branching antlers, and long canines that looked capable of causing real damage. “The ones with the red markings on their necks and shoulders are the males. A favorite prey creature for the dragons, and for us as well, but they are not easy to catch, nor will they go down without a fight. The hide is extremely tough, and the hooves, horns, and fangs are to be avoided. Although...” she turned a thoughtful gaze upon Erantha and Kevaah. “I use the hides to make hunting leathers, and it occurs to me that I do not have enough to make sets for both of you.”

Kevaah ran one hand over one leg of his trousers, which were already starting to look a little the worse for wear. Lance had chosen a tough, elastic fabric for those, but Zampedran grasses, even at this young stage, laughed at mere man-made fabrics. Indeed, he envied the Paladins for their leathers, which ignored the scratching of the grass. The Matriarch desired hides, and he had heard his new brother Keith desiring meat. Kevaah's quicksilver mind came to the obvious conclusion, and instinct spurred him to act upon it. It was the duty of the hunter to feed and supply the Pack, and so he cannoned forward down the steep declivity, blade leaping from its scabbard, intent upon providing for his kin.

Erantha let out a bark of exasperation and chased after him, furious that he had taken the lead. Had she not hunted these before? How dared he challenge her authority like this!

Lance watched them go in surprise at the sudden rush, and then grinned over at Lizenne. He'd seen something like this before, among his more competitive cousins. “I saw what you did there. You're trying to get him a girlfriend, aren't you?”

Lizenne returned his grin with an added wink. “Her heart wants him already, but her head can't get past her prejudices yet, and everything about him challenges her pride. He needs to be loved, and to know that he is loved. This will help them on the way toward a proper conclusion.”

Hunk snickered. “Matchmaker.”

“Matriarch,” Lizenne corrected him. “It is my duty to see to the well-being of my nieces and nephews.”

Pidge squinted down at the pair, who were racing toward the herd, not as a team, but as competitors. “Does Zaianne know about this?”

Modhri nodded. “She told us. She approves, we approve, and so do the dragons. The greater Pack back on Zampedri wishes to have a tribe of Galra of their own upon that world, and those two down there would make a fine founding couple, even as Lizenne and I will. Thus, they must learn a thing or two about each other, and about their eventual home.”

Pidge cackled and went up a nearby tree like a squirrel. “Cool! Let's see how they handle Zampedran Bambi!”

The herd had noticed that they were being approached, and weren't particularly impressed. They were, after all, used to having to deal with Tilla and Soluk, and were descended from stock that had faced down ravening monsters like unittik and tambok for millions of years. These two little purple things, who couldn't even move as a proper hunting pair, weren't going to be much of a challenge. One of the younger does snorted and stamped nervously, but all of them stood their ground. The wind brought them the scent of the approaching small predators, and the herd relaxed a little. This was not a pair that they knew. The other pair was dangerous, and sometimes worked with the dragons, and the herd knew full well that both large and small predators preferred to avoid wet ground. The king-stag barked a challenge, sweeping his huge antlers down and to the side, the knife-sharp points slashing through the turf with ease and tossing strips of sod into the air. The rest of the herd followed his example, barking and slashing at the turf as well, and still the predators came.

Pawing the ground with his fore- and middle hooves, the king-stag snorted like a steam engine and charged. This was going to be _fun_.

Lance, Hunk, and presumably Pidge stared owl-eyed at what happened next. The huge stag had leaped forward into a six-legged gallop, head bowed to bring the antlers to bear, the does and lesser bucks giving him plenty of room to work in. Kevaah tried to change course, but one foot hit a slippery spot, and he fell forward onto the grassy slope and kept going. The earth beneath the grassroots was absolutely saturated, and the excited animals had sliced and churned the slope into a steep field of slick mud. He did manage to stop himself from sliding right out of the valley, but not before he was thoroughly coated with filth. In the meantime, Erantha had headed straight for the burly animal, and had caught an antler in one hand, perhaps hoping to incapacitate the stag with a powerful stab through the eyesocket. This did not happen. Instead, the stag swung his head around and up in an awesome arc, lifting her clear off of her feet and flinging her bodily downslope, where she landed smack in Kevaah's mudslide and followed him down the hill, upside down and backwards, her blade spinning off into the grasses. Triumphant, the stag pranced and let out a series of brays that sounded entirely too much like mocking laughter.

Erantha did not approve of such dirty tricks, and the Paladins could hear her swearing all the way up on the top of the hill.

Hunk let out a low whistle. “Zampedran Bambi is hardcore.”

Modhri chuckled. “And herein lies a lesson—what happens when the prey will not run?”

Lizenne smiled fondly at the two Galra struggling to get up out of the mud. “The predator learns discretion. My first atinbuk chased me right up a tree, and Tilla laughed about it for days.”

Kevaah managed to find some stable ground and took off after a doe with a roar, only to be sideswiped by another buck and tipped back into the mud. Erantha was faring no better; every time she managed to get upright, the king-stag knocked her down again. Never hard enough to hurt her, strangely enough. Just hard enough to make sure that she stayed sprawled in the muck.

Lizenne glanced up at Pidge, whom she could hear giggling. “I assume that you're recording this, young lady?”

“You betcha!” Pidge replied.

“Good.” Lizenne shook her head at the antics below. “Show it to Kolivan when you next have the chance; I perceive a gap in Blade training.”

Modhri tutted at her. “We aren't built for this sort of terrain, you know.”

“Like the universe cares,” Lance said, watching Erantha attempt to pull herself out of the mire by grabbing onto the stag's antlers again, with predictably mixed results; her habit of picking on Kevaah annoyed Lance, and this was as good a comeuppance as any. “Hey, Hunk, you know what this reminds me of? That one high-school football tournament a few years before we left, when they had that water main break in the stadium, and the only other court available was that big grassy field a few miles away.”

Hunk grinned. “Yeah, and it had been raining for, like, the past week. They had to declare a draw at the end of the game 'cause they couldn't tell the players apart anymore. We've definitely got some of that deep-dirt action going on down there.”

Lance snickered, plucked a pinecone-shaped seed cluster from a nearby bush, and started speaking into it as if it were a microphone. “Yes, friends, and welcome to the Inclined Plain Mud Follies! On one side, we have Team Bambo, notable for their united front and evil senses of humor; on the other side, we've got Team Purple, a very new team still in the shakedown phase, and wow, are they getting shaken down, or what?”

Lance had an excellent speaking voice and very good projection, and the acoustics of the hills brought every word down to the competitors below, loud and clear. Both the atinbuk herd and the two Galra were shooting dirty looks up the hill. Lance did not care, and continued merrily. “Despite a brave start by Team Purple, Team Bambo's captain, four hundred pounds of cranky Zampedran muscle if he's an ounce, has been having it all his own way. Those six points of contact between him and the field make it very clear that evolving only two feet is a bad career move, folks. Oh, but Team Purple's determined to make a good showing anyway; look out, everybody—Tall, Dark, and Fearsome is back on his feet, and the Night Ninjette wants blood!”

She certainly did, and Erantha resolved to have some of Lance's if they weren't able to bring one of these dratted animals down. She had hunted before, and had even hunted these alongside Lizenne and the dragons, but hadn't realized how much skill it took to maneuver these beasts into a vulnerable position! Even on flat, dry ground it hadn't been easy, and this was close to impossible. How were such large animals managing to stay upright?

She had her answer a moment later, when Kevaah essayed an impressive leap, managing to land astride a buck's long back. He had lost his blade somewhere in the mud as well, and was trying to rip its throat out with his claws, but they skidded harmlessly off of the buck's tough hide. The animal went mad at the feel of this unexpected burden, rearing up with a tearing shriek and flailing furiously with its front and middle hooves. Three-toed hooves, she noted as one slashed past her face, missing her nose by inches, and webbed between the toes to create a foot that was as good in deep mud as on dry land. The beast also had a remarkably flexible spine; Kevaah managed to stay on its back for nearly a minute before the buck executed a leap that turned into an unbelievable airborne barrel-roll. The buck stuck the landing. Kevaah did not, and wound up splatting down in the mud again. Braying in fury, the buck turned to savage him with its antlers, but paused when it heard something else let out a fearsome battlecry.

“I don't believe it!” Lance shouted. “A surprise play by Team Purple, completely out of the blue! It's Keith to the rescue!”

Keith had indeed appeared as if by magic on a nearby hilltop, and was speeding toward the scene as fast as he could go; whether it was to help his friends or to obtain fresh burger meat, nobody knew, but the wet ground and steep slope was no kinder to him than it had been to the others. The moment his feet landed on the field of play, he fell afoul of the same hazard that Kevaah had, and his fearsome roar became a howl of alarm as he lost traction.

“ _YEEEEEAAAAAAaaaaaaaagggghhhh!!---_ Splat!” went the red Paladin, to the general amusement of the herd.

Lance was laughing so hard that he was bent double, and he waved the seed-pod microphone at Hunk. “Keith... oh, god... Keith's joined... the fun... in the true spirit... holy crow... of the game. Let's hear from our... color commentator. Hunk?”

Hunk took the seed pod with a broad smile. “Yeah, mud for the win. It's a tough game out here today, all right, what with the bad field conditions and the sarcastic super-deer, but the surprise entrance of a third party doesn't look like it'll up Team Purple's chances much. Teamwork doesn't really come naturally to them. Yeah, there they go again, and I'll swear that the buck is laughing as hard as Lance is right now. Lizenne, you're an old hand at this, what do you make of the lack of talent being shown here today?”

Lizenne smiled, being no stranger to amateur team sports herself. “It's absolutely typical of an adolescent hunting group, Hunk,” she replied, humoring him by speaking into the seed-head. “There's a certain amount of honor in being the leader, and young adults are not known for their humility. Fortunately, the rest of the world stands ready to provide life lessons. Mud is one of the better methods, don't you think?”

“Can't argue with that, Lizenne,” Hunk said, handing the seed pod back to Lance, who was wheezing with mirth. “Breathe, Lance. Wow, that's a lot of mud.”

This was unfortunately true; between the atinbuk herd and the flailing Blades, the entire slope was a mudslide just waiting to happen. In his attempts to get back on his feet, Keith had become just as thickly coated as the two Galra.

Lance wiped his streaming eyes and squinted at them. “Okay, we can't tell them apart anymore, so I'll just call them Big Blob, Middle Blob, and Little Blob. Since he is so small and cute, I will assume that Little Blob is Keith.” Lance ducked as Little Blob hurled a gob of mud at him. “Yep, that's him. How about a word from our eyes in the sky? Pigeon-in-the-crow's-nest, what do you think?”

“These fruits are really good!” Pidge shouted back. “Here, have one!”

Unlike Little Blob, Pidge did not miss.

“Pygmy Power!” Pidge shouted cheerfully. “Taste the wrath of the Fellowship of the Short!”

Hunk scooped a bit of blue-green pulp off of Lance's scalp and tasted it. “You're right, these are good, and... whoa. Pidge, lay off of those, I think they ferment when they're overripe. Get down here, okay? It's not a good idea to be drunk while up a tree.”

A deep rumble from above also reminded them that it also wasn't a good idea to be up a tree in a thunderstorm. Boiling up overhead was a very respectable miniature downpour, and Pidge squeaked in alarm and slid down the trunk in a rush. Not soon enough to dodge the rain, alas, which came down with considerable force. The atinbuk herd wanted nothing to do with the weather and abandoned their fun, galloping down the slope toward the marsh in huge, ground-eating bounds. Keith and the others weren't so lucky; the rainwater was more than the damaged slope could hold, and they all went slipping down the hill together in a long, screaming rush to splash down into the shallow waters below.

“Look at it this way,” Lance called after them, “you'll be able to get clean agai— _aaaaagh!”_

Lance's feet had been just that little bit too close to the edge, and the soft earth slipped out from underneath him like an unsecured throw rug. With a yell of surprise, he landed on his rump in the mud and vanished down the slick slope as well, howling in protest all the way. A few seconds later, they saw the unlucky trio squirt out into the shallow end of the marsh, practically into Allura's and Coran's laps, followed a moment later by a blob of mud that was probably Lance. Predictably, chaos ensued.

Hunk wiped rainwater out of his eyes and caught the back of Pidge's vest just in time to keep her from following them. “Think we should go down there and referee?” he shouted over the roar of the storm.

Modhri shook his head, observing the vigorous mud fight that was occurring below. “No, we'll let them get it out of their systems, I think; Allura's strong and agile enough to deal with them, and Coran's with her. We'll give them their scolding later.”

“Scolding?” Pidge asked, frowning at them through glasses thick with water droplets.

Lizenne smiled at her, shielding her own eyes from the falling water. “Pack etiquette, dear. This is the heart of my domain. As the younger members of the pack, they should have allowed me and Modhri to begin the hunt, and to lead and direct them to a successful conclusion. It should have been obvious to all three of them that rushing the herd in this terrain was a silly idea, but they did so anyway. They certainly shouldn't have been working at cross-purposes. I'm obligated to chide them a bit... after they've stopped hurling mud at everybody, I think. Nonetheless, they have aided in the hunt—look over there.”

Far away across the plains, they saw the speeding golden dots of the herd, and two much larger creatures chasing them. Shiro was just visible astride one of them, and as they watched, one arm came up and shot forward; the black Paladin had thrown a bola-whip, and one of the atinbuks stumbled and fell. The other dragon was on it instantly.

Modhri smiled. “Playing with our three youngsters tired the herd a bit, just enough to make them a little slower than usual. Thus, Keith shall have his cheeseburgers.”

“Fine with me,” Hunk said, thinking happy cheddar thoughts. “Can we go and see the rocks now?”

“Of course,” Modhri said agreeably, and looked up as the rain slackened off; there was a moment of intense, ephemeral color as the miniature storm's rainbow flashed briefly over them, and then it moved off to soak some other part of the prairie. “I believe that you'll like them very much.”

They continued onward, coming to an area where the soil was thinner, and game trails revealed narrow, rocky paths that cut secret passages down through the envirodeck's miniature highland toward the marsh. These paths were often lined with knobbly-rooted bushes and shrubs that sheltered beds of herbs and provided damp, shady spots for peculiar fungal growths. Lizenne and Modhri were happy to see these, and gathered sprigs and clusters of both despite Pidge's wrinkled nose.

“I'd think that after what we just went through, you wouldn't want mushrooms,” she said.

Lizenne tucked a last gray-blue fungus into her basket with a satisfied pat. “It depends on the mushroom. These are medicinal, Pidge, and very valuable for that purpose. I can derive a potent antibiotic from these irell mushrooms here, and these dorf caps provide a substance that is very good for treating heavy-metals poisoning. The stems of knob thirsa contain chemicals that are essential for boosting immune systems in most carbon-based life forms, and the frills contain a cardiac stimulant that can revive the nearly dead. A tincture of these atambriac caps, when mixed with sintra nectar and a few other things, can help to regenerate damaged organ tissues. I went to a lot of trouble to establish these beds, and many others; even on their homeworld, they're rare and difficult to find, and cultivating them isn't easy. Zampedri, thankfully, has no equivalent of the Mouse World monster.”

“Thank the Ancients for that,” a new voice surprised them, and they looked up to see Coran ambling up a path toward them and smiling benevolently upon the basket full of rare produce. “Well, now, that takes me back. Pop-Pop always counted his little trips to Zampedri to be a success if he could bring back a basket full of those things, even if he wasn't able to find anything else. You should have seen the medical researchers fighting each other over the fruits of his foraging, and if anything, the scientific community was worse.”

“I'm sort of surprised that Altea didn't just send regular research missions there,” Pidge said, looking up at the glittering rock ridge in the near distance.

“Couldn't,” Coran replied with a shrug, straightening his bathrobe. “Technically, the place was a territory of Namtura, it being the second home of that great Queen of theirs. The old dear had decreed that it would be left strictly alone, except for the occasional visit by a few privileged families.”

Modhri nodded. “Namtura still reveres her as a mighty heroine, and they've honored that decree ever since, for all that most of those families died out long ago. Zampedri is... not quite inviolate, but it is restricted, and Namtura is powerful enough among the Core Worlds to declare it strictly off-limits to prospectors. The profusion of cosmic anomalies in that solar system does help to keep poachers away.”

Coran smirked. “Doesn't it just? Pop-Pop solved a technical conundrum for the Namturan Royals, once, and they were happy to grant him a special permit. He could have asked for a lot more than that, and they were just a little financially-stretched at the time. Besides, they always sent a monitor along with him who would take recordings of the trip, and that usually included humorous encounters with baby dragons. They're awfully cute, by the way.”

“I can believe it,” Hunk said, and gave Coran a puzzled look. “So, why are you up here and not throwing mud around in the marsh?”

Coran waggled a hand. “Didn't really feel like it. The mud's wonderful, but the water's just a bit chilly, and having Erantha land splat in my lap like that was more excitement than I care to face while in my underwear! Thought I'd rinse off and come up here to sightsee, since there were these nice little paths. Mind if I join you?”

“Sure!” Pidge said, pointing up at the rocks. “Did your grandpa ever see anything like those?”

The Altean tugged at his mustache and gazed thoughtfully upward. “Not sure. I've never had the leisure to explore that planet myself, after all, and Pop-Pop liked keeping little secrets if there was treasure involved.”

Treasure, indeed. A few more minutes of walking brought them up among the rocks themselves, and the sight of them took their breath away. The huge vines that wrapped every towering crag had lost their spikes and outer bark after the burnoff, allowing another, much stranger sort of vegetation to burst through the gaps in the growth. These new plants were impossible, seemingly made entirely from gems, opening large, gorgeous crystalline flowers to the sun. Every time the wind blew, leaves and petals rang together like chimes, filling the air with a delicate, glassy tinkling.

“That's amazing!” Hunk breathed. “Are these real? Like, really real? These flowers look like those crystal lotuses you can get from zen websites on Earth. They really grow here?”

Lizenne reached out with one hand and lifted a bloom made of water-clear crystal that took fire in the sun like a handful of diamonds. “Venadra flowers. They're an organosilicate plant, and absolutely vital to just about every land animal on Zampedri. They're also—ouch!” She snatched her hand back, shaking it with a wry smile. “They're photovoltaic and draw energy directly from the sun, which they can use to discourage overgrazing.”

“That's amazing!” Pidge said eagerly, rushing up to examine the extravagant blooms. “Photovoltaic, like solar panels, and they run on electricity? That's too cool! Oh, wow, and they feel great! They're almost like machines.”

Coran chuckled delightedly. “They're also a declaration of love. Being living gems, the blooms last just about forever, and lovesick swains would pay any amount to bring such a gift to their intended brides. Grandfather never brought back more than a few of these after any given trip, and hordes of young men and women would clamor for the ones he did get! He used to interview the lovebirds himself, and would only give them over if he was sure that the marriage would be a success, and he made them work for the honor! Alfor had to pester him for over a phebe to get a particularly nice one for Melenor, and had the Royal Jeweler set it as the centerpiece of her wedding crown. She looked absolutely dazzling at their wedding, you know, utterly spectacular, and every other prince and grand duke wept into their drinks that night, sorrowing over letting that lovely young woman get away from them.”

“Nice,” Hunk said. “So, how do these fit in here? You said that they were vital?”

“My goodness, yes,” Lizenne said, and lifted something else from the glittering growths. It was large enough to fill her hand, and it looked a little like a stag beetle, if stag beetles could be made from aqua-blue crystal. “The flowers draw boron and other crystalline elements from the rocks themselves, and bloom to attract these soriapt beetles, another organosilicate creature, to pollinate them. The beetles are phototropic, and they need those elements in the flowers to trigger their own breeding cycle. This is a female. She's already had a boyfriend or two, you can see the egg mass forming in her abdomen, here, and have a look at her mandibles.”

“Wow,” Hunk said, studying the fearsome array of grinding parts. “Organosilicate, huh? Earth only has one sort of critter like that—diatoms, but those are microscopic organisms. Really important ones, but they're tiny, and really simple. This is amazing!”

“Isn't she just?” Lizenne said, stroking the glittering insect's carapace. “In another few weeks she and her sisters will lay their eggs, which will hatch out into large and unattractive grubs, which will burrow down into the root systems of these big pitchpa vines. There, they will attach themselves to the tuberous roots and feed until it is time to emerge and molt. There are creatures that will dig up the grubs, and others that can crack open and feed on the soft innards of the adults, and there are even certain plants that can break down and process the spent carapaces, which passes those vital minerals up the food chain. It's the boron and minerals from the venadra flowers, passed on in this way, that makes their way into the bones of every Zampedran beast, making them stronger than steel.”

“Without these flowers, a yulpadi cannot stand, much less run,” Modhri murmured. “No ornipal could grow so large, nor could they develop their horns and bony plates. No unittik could hunt without them, no tambok could grow their fearsome teeth, nor any dragon stand so tall and strong. Tilla and Soluk owe their own potency to these, and the dragons spend a great deal of time and effort making sure that these plants produce a good growth every year.”

The beetle waggled its jeweled antennae at them and worked its mandibles with a sound like little scissors snipping. Lizenne plucked a petal from an already chewed flower and gave it to the beetle, which she then deposited in Pidge's hands. Pidge cradled the heavy insect reverently and stared in fascination as it crunched down something that was technically inedible, and watched, enraptured, as its internal organs processed the resulting mineral powder.

Coran vented a faint _hmph._ “That would explain why Pop-Pop refused to pick any more of them than absolutely necessary. And here we'd all thought that he was just trying to drive up the price! He'd always said that he was being environmentally responsible, but nobody could quite believe it. And they'll only grow on these rock formations?”

Lizenne nodded. “These, and these alone. Zampedri has many large deposits of borosilicate rock, and they push up through the flatlands from pole to pole like the backbones of serpents. Wherever those rocks are, so are the pitchpa vines, and the venadras won't grow without them. There are dozens of species of each, some of them even more extravagant than these, and every one of them lies at the heart of a vast ecological food web.”

“Super important,” Hunk said wonderingly, watching Pidge geeking out over the soriapt beetle for a long moment before drawing Lizenne and Modhri aside. “Look... um... is it okay if I pick a few? Just five or six of them?”

Modhri glanced back at Pidge as well, and at Coran, who was admiring the glittering flowers. “I take it that you have something or someone in mind.”

Hunk sighed. “Yeah. It's kind of obvious that we're... I mean, the whole team, all of us together, we're all going to be a thing, you know? Not just a Voltron thing, but a _thing._ Coran warned us about that, and the Lions sure like the idea, I know that. I've got no problem with that and the others are getting used to it. Slowly, but it's happening. I just want to be prepared.”

“That's a lovely idea,” Lizenne said softly. “The Alteans aren't the only people who covet venadra flowers as courting-gifts. My father wooed my mother with one, as a matter of fact, a particularly lovely bloom that he'd inherited from his own grandfather, who had also received it as a courting-gift. Mother keeps it in a special hanging case in her bedroom window, and my brothers and I played at trying to catch the rainbows it cast over the floor when we were very small.”

“Awww,” Hunk said. “That's so cute. Want to help me pick out some good ones?”

Modhri smiled fondly at him. “Of course.”

Pidge and Coran never noticed their absence, thankfully, and they were able to find a fine selection of first-class flowers, some as large as five inches across. Their companions, when they returned, had found a pair of male beetles competing for the attentions of a very pretty female, and were cheering the big, glassy bugs on without restraint. The males were darker in color, with bigger horns, and vestigial wings that had tiny biolights in them. When they whirred those delicate structures at their foes in prismatic displays of aggression, they glittered wonderfully. Pidge was a true geek, instantly attracted by blinky lights, and it didn't surprise Hunk at all when Pidge asked if she could keep one as a pet.

“Not these, dear,” Lizenne said, disappointing her. “The envirodeck has only one rock ridge, and the creatures here need every beetle that it can produce. The beetles themselves can't survive without the venadras, which will not grow without the pitchpas, which will not grow without the stones. We would have to turn your room into a giant terrarium. When was the last time you cleaned your room, anyway?”

Pidge rolled her eyes in exasperation; it was no secret among the Paladins that, however neat and orderly her lab was, her room was a disaster area. She glared at the rocks, which grew no smaller under her regard. “I will find a way to bonsai everything.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Hunk said, eyeing the main trunk of one pitchpa vine, which was thicker than his leg. “We'd better get back down to the marsh and see whether or not Erantha's popped Lance's head off for making fun of her. I dunno, though... can you bonsai an organosilicate plant?”

“Not these,” Modhri said, running a cautious finger over a crystalline petal. “Venadras are protective of their root systems, and can generate a lethal electric shock when they feel the need. I'm told that there are a few varieties that have evolved the ability to shoot laser beams, the better to teach clumsy grazers to behave themselves.”

Pidge's eyes gleamed avariciously. “Amazing!”

“But not uncommon among the odder ends of the plant kingdom,” Coran said with a twirl of his mustache as he turned away from the flowers.

“You mean, there are more?” Pidge said eagerly, following him back toward the path.

“Oh, goodness, yes,” Coran replied cheerfully. “Organosilicate life isn't all that unusual, although it tends to stay reasonably simple most of the time, like Hunk's diatom thingies and plant-like forms. Sometimes you'll get some remarkable insect-like creatures, other times you'll find birdlike ones, or even fish. Not terribly efficient, those, they tend to sink a lot. Alfor once encountered a colony of metallo-silicate creatures living in orbit around an old white-dwarf binary system, as a matter of fact. Quite pretty, but they tried to eat his Lion, so he had to leave in something of a hurry. Sometimes they're beneficial, like the drocyco shrubs of Ephorpta, which are still used today on many worlds as a way of cleaning up toxic chemical spills and contaminated earth around mines. Very interesting bushes, those, they fruit light bulbs. Sometimes they're hazardous, like the Great Uthrongapor Solar Trellis, which is officially the largest single life form in the known universe. It's an orbital vining plant of extraordinary strength, and it's englobed its sun almost totally—a yellow-green star roughly analagous to your own sun, young lady, and at a distance that is slightly closer in than the orbit of Mars. No big planets in that solar system, just a lot of moonlets, planetoids, and large chunks of space junk, all webbed together by the biggest example of cosmic bindweed known to science. The one problem with the thing is that it thinks that starships are fresh doses of fertilizer, and a wise captain will keep his distance.”

“I've been there,” Lizenne said, maneuvering her loaded basket carefully down the narrow path. “It's beautiful, but it's been labeled as a proscribed system for very good reason. The vine is capable of sensing any metallic object above the size of a fist, and if one comes within range, it will send out enormous, curling stems to grab it and haul it in. It's capable of defending itself as well, by lensing sunlight through its own flower petals to create solar lasers that are far greater than anything the Empire can produce. It's also inhabited, believe it or not.”

“ _What?”_ Coran yelped, staring at her in disbelief. “How did you find that out? That thing's so full of odd energies that we've never been able to scan it properly!”

She smiled. “I went and had a look. The vine craves metals, but it ignores things like cellulose, so I went over to Ponitrang and bought the biggest boulder-nut that I could find. I spent fifteen days hollowing the thing out and fitting it with a ceramic steam engine and simple steering systems. No metallic parts at all.”

Hunk boggled at her, and he wasn't alone in that. “A... a steam engine. In space.”

Modhri chuckled at his, Coran's, and Pidge's expressions. “It's not uncommon in orbital communities. All you need is a water tank and a way of heating it up, and the steam provides thrust. My tutors called them 'teakettle shuttles'. What was it like inside the vine?”

Lizenne heaved a long sigh. “It was... very strange. It's not just one shell around the sun, Coran, but at least two hundred, and possibly more, all interconnected in layered ecosystems. Those ecosystems are vast, infinitely complex worlds in their own right, with different levels of gravity, heat, light, and atmosphere the further inward toward the sun you travel. Every level has its own inhabitants and civilizations, and there is some trade between them, but the only similarity they all share is that they are organosilicate life, truly the children of the vine. I never got further in than the second level, and believe me, that was enough. The natives were willing to talk, for all that the universal translator had considerable difficulty with the languages, but they simply could not believe that there was more to the universe than their home, or that I had come from  _outside._ Only one mad hermit on the outermost level was willing to give the matter some thought, if only because it had grown its dwelling near one of the openings in the vines, and could see the stars through the gap. It told me to go, and to not come back, for there was no room even in that tremendous place for such concepts. So I did, and have not told anyone about it until now; I don't want that place disturbed. It is far too alien for the likes of us.”

“Wow,” Pidge said, awed by the thought of such a megastructure, and a living one at that. “And since the whole thing is alive, I'll bet that it can adapt to the changes in the sun, too. If it's lasted this long, I'll bet that solar flares don't bother it much either, right?”

“Not as such,” Lizenne said thoughtfully. “It's all one organism, and it can disperse even that much energy throughout its network, or bleed off the excess by firing its lasers into space.”

Pidge was silent for a long moment. “I bet that I could talk with it.”

Lizenne puffed a laugh. “You could try. I doubt very much that you would be able to get its attention. It isn't like my little venadra flowers, or like that forest by the Szaracan Cluster. It is leviathan, and will ignore anything smaller than a Weblum.”

“Which it would probably try to eat,” Coran said darkly. “Most plants are a bit single-minded that way, and they're terribly selfish. Even the ones that practically throw their fruit at you are just trying to get you to spread their seeds about for them, and speaking of that, Blaytz once got himself into a dreadfully embarrassing muddle with a Holeerpian hamadryad that... well, let's just say that it went beyond mere cross-pollination. Zarkon never let him live it down.”

Hunk snorted. “Well, Galra tend to get a little huffy where it comes to romance. Makes me kind of worry about what'll happen when Keith... awww.”

They had reached the edge of the marsh by now, and a gap in a nearby stand of young bittru reeds allowed them to witness an unexpectedly tender scene. Well, something like tender anyway. Keith was sitting waist-deep in the water with his vest off while Lance slathered him with more mud, and Keith wasn't trying to kill him. A little distance away, Allura and Erantha were trying to get the mud out of Kevaah's otterlike fur, and not having much luck.

“Oh, quit grumbling, Keith,” Lance was saying as he rubbed the thick, dark goo over the nape of Keith's neck. “You've got great skin, and if you don't take care of it or grow a nice coat of fuzz, it's going to get all saggy and wrinkly later on. Seriously, this mud is incredible! Five or ten minutes is all it takes to make you all lily-soft. If my sister Marcia ever gets hold of a sample, the dragons are going to have to move the entire planet out to some cosmic hideout, 'cause she'll show up on their doorstep with an army of backhoes and dump trucks. I'm about done here, anyway. How about you get my back next?”

Keith rolled his eyes but complied, scooping up great handfuls of mud as Lance removed his vest. Lance really did have good muscle definition now, for all that he was lean enough to still look skinny to the untrained eye. Pidge giggled quietly to see the equally well-defined and mud-covered Keith slather mud all over Lance's back. “Think they'll start wrestling?”

Hunk smirked. “Bet you five jam cookies.”

“Ten says they'll start making out,” Coran insinuated.

“No bet,” Pidge replied dismissively, “not with witnesses.”

They considered the proximity of the two ladies, who were pouring water over Kevaah's head with the help of a large leaf from one of the water plants.

“Oh, all right,” Coran conceded. “Eight says they'll get up to a bit of mild hanky-panky, though.”

Hunk nodded. “You're on.”

Keith rather obviously had no intention of committing hanky, much less panky, and scowled darkly at the back of Lance's head as he slapped the gobs of mud down on Lance's shoulderblades. Lance, on the other hand, leaned back into the caress and made happy noises more appropriate to a porn vid, darkening Keith's expression further even as it raised color on the young man's cheeks.

“Cut it out, Lance, this isn't a hentai thing,” Keith growled, casting mortified glances at Allura and the others. “Cool it, already.”

Lance snorted a laugh. “First of all, Keith, it would be yaoi, not hentai. And there aren't enough tentacles. Anyway, you'd be surprised. That just feels really good, and—ooh,” he leaned back suddenly, pressing muddy shoulders into Keith's chest. “You're warm. That's really nice. Do Galra have higher body temperatures than Humans do?”

Keith began to look a little desperate, and leaned away from his embarrassingly affectionate teammate.  _“Lance...”_

Lance leaned back a little more, maintaining contact. “Mmm, that's really nice, and I'll bet that's why Galra can do all of those super ninja moves even though they're bigger than us. Supercharged metabolisms, but they're also more efficient than ours. Not that that's difficult, really. One of my cousins is an anatomist, and he says that the human body is the biggest argument against the Intelligent Design theory that he can think of.”

“Really,” Keith said weakly, trying to skootch backward a little more, only to have his knees sink into the mud, more or less sealing him in place.

Lance grinned and waved a muddy hand, leaning back even further. “Oh, heck, yeah. He says that we're a bunch of bad compromises put together by committee. Feet, spine, hips, digestive system, lots of outdated stinky monkey instincts trying to deal with flash-evolving into sapience and not getting anywhere, and don't get him started on the reproductive parts. Cousin Maria-Dolores walked in on one of his tirades once and wound up chasing him out of the house with a broom. It was great.”

Keith was leaning back at an extremely uncomfortable angle now, and it was obvious that something was going to have to give way soon. _“Lance...!”_ Keith ground out through clenched teeth.

Lance just snuggled in harder. “It kinda makes me wonder just which one of us came first, y'know, like the chicken or the egg. I mean, did whoever messed with the genes correct some stuff on their part, or screw some stuff up on ours? And who were they, any-whoop!”

Keith had succumbed to gravity, plunging them both beneath the surface of the water. A great deal of flailing and splashing followed, making the little group lurking behind the reeds chuckle. “Looks like some cookies are owed, eh?” Coran asked.

Hunk waved a hand dismissively. “I'm all out, anyway. Somebody found out where I hid our cookie jar and raided it, so I'll just make more and we'll call it even.”

“Yeah, I'll want to see how those tree fruits bake up, anyway,” Pidge said, stepping out from behind the reeds. “Guys, you're all over space leeches. Hey, Allura, having fun?”

“Yes, actually,” Allura said over the chorus of startled yelps from Keith and Lance. “The mud has done wonders for my skin—the pink berries, Lance, over there by that big rock—but it sticks to fur like glue! We may have to run Kevaah and Erantha here through decontam to get it all out. Kevaah especially. However do you manage in hot weather with such dense fur?”

Kevaah wiped water out of his eyes and snorted. “I suffer. In extreme cases, I shave. I hate doing that. I can't feel pain, but I can itch, and I do so for three weeks while the fur grows back, which it does in big, unsightly patches that make people point and stare. It is very annoying. Matriarch, I apologize, I could not bring you the hides that you wanted.”

Lizenne and the others had stepped out from behind the reeds, and she merely nodded. “Zampedran beasts are difficult, and hunting them is very different from hunting enemies. Next time, wait until I call a proper hunt so that we may teach you the right way of it. Erantha?”

The Galra woman winced. “I acted upon impulse.”

Modhri sighed at this terse admission. “I hope you will not do that while on assignment. This is not a competition. Very few creatures here may be hunted alone, and there is a reason why Lizenne bonded herself to not one, but two dragons. Those atinbuks could easily have injured or killed you, Blade training or no. Nevertheless, we shall not leave the field empty-handed today.”

Modhri pointed off to one side, where Tilla, Soluk, and Shiro were approaching, and both dragons were carrying something large in their jaws. A pair of dead atinbuk, they realized, and the dragons were looking very smug about it. Shiro, bolas slung over one shoulder, smiled and waved. “Hey,” he greeted them.

“ _You_ caught two?” Erantha blurted, still smarting from her own failure.

“I had help,” Shiro said, giving credit where it was due. “We saw a herd of these come out of the hills, and Soluk and Tilla decided to help me get some for dinner.”

Kevaah dipped him a small bow. “I congratulate you. Even one atinbuk was beyond our abilities, much less two.”

Shiro tugged at the bola cords. “Three, actually. The bola-whips really helped with that. They had the third just now for their own dinner, so we get these.”

Lizenne smiled slyly at him. “And how will you apportion the kill, Shiro? You caught them, they're yours.”

Shiro knew that he was being tested here. He was in Lizenne's territory, but he and the dragons had done all the work, and in any case, both his teammates and the two Blades were staring at the atinbuks with undisguised appetite. _Pack politics,_ he thought, and chose the only path that wouldn't wind up causing resentments all around. “I'll let Hunk decide that. I can barely boil water, so I'll leave it to the professional.”

Hunk was also one of the most generous souls that Shiro had ever met with in his life, and he knew that he had chosen well when the yellow Paladin took charge. “Good, 'cause we're going to need a lot of this,” Hunk said, stepping forward to have a look at Tilla's mouthful. “Just put that down, Tilla? Thanks. Yeah, these are nice. Okay, Lizenne gets the hides, of course, she wants to make Kevaah and Erantha some hunting gear anyway. And maybe some replacements for us. Guys, where are your vests?”

Keith and Lance, both attractively shirtless, paused in picking space leeches off of each other and pointed at a nearby bush, which looked very stylish. Kevaah, also shirtless, pointed to a sad, mud-encrusted lump of ragged fabric on the nearby shore. “I am very hard on shirts, alas,” he said with an apologetic glance at Lance.

“Hey, active living, right?” Hunk said, considering Soluk's contribution. “You should have seen how fast I went through trousers in high school, and Lance's grandma used to swear that Carlos was eating the sweaters she knit for him. He wasn't, really, but he was always unraveling them for one thing or another. He turned his whole house into a woolly spiderweb maze, once, and his dad had to chop everything loose with the hedge shears. Let's see... Lizenne, you get the hides and a really nice piece of meat, your choice, and we'll take enough for a couple of batches of burgers—stop drooling, Keith, you're making me nervous. I'll give the rest to Modhri's folks.”

“Really?” Modhri said with a warm smile.

Hunk nodded, trying to calculate the best way to butcher out a four-hundred-pound beast with six legs. It wasn't a yulpadi or an ornipal, but it would be a challenge nonetheless. “Oh, yeah. Polite, see? Your mom and dad and brothers got to have dinner with us that first time, but there wasn't enough for the whole family. Avaris wants me to teach her how to use a wok, and atinbuk would go great in a stir-fry. The whole reason for stir-fry is to stretch one piece of protein over as many people as possible, and we've got a lot of people. Win-win.”

“More than you know,” Lizenne said approvingly. _“Chimera,_ we will need my tambok-fang knife set, and sufficient containers and packing film. Well done, you two. Oh, and save out the hearts and livers. Those are very good, and the livers in particular will be good for the pregnant women. Keith, Erantha, Kevaah, go and find your blades, you'll need them for getting into the thoracic cavities.”

“Gronk,” Tilla protested.

“You've had yours, dear,” Lizenne said firmly, “and our guests have a need. You can be greedy when you're gestating eggs of your own.”

Soluk laid down his own kill and nipped playfully at Tilla's ear, waggling his scaly eyebrows at her. She snorted, nipped back, but didn't otherwise object.

The dressing-out stage went fairly quickly at least, with two extra professional knife-handlers to help, although there was one small delay; the rich smell of the dark red-purple meat tempted Kevaah into nibbling curiously at one of the bones. He had never tasted anything quite like before it in his life, even the cooked meat he'd had earlier hadn't tasted like this, and it awakened a number of deep-buried instincts in him. He became quite distracted by it, in fact, and the sound of his sharp fangs grating over the iron-hard femur creeped the Paladins out.

“Kevaah,” Modhri chided gently.

“It's good,” the dark-furred man said defensively. “Perhaps I should take a few of these back for the cubs. Neline would like it.”

“She'll get hers,” Lizenne said in a tone that brooked no argument, ignoring the sharp look that Erantha gave him. “The bones stay here, and if you give me that one, I'll show you why.”

Puzzled, Kevaah handed her the heavy femur, and Lizenne stood and carried it some distance away, searching through the low growth until she found something that they couldn't quite see. Raising the bone up over her head, she rammed one end of it into the soft earth, and then skipped away in a hurry; seconds later, something below the ground began pulling the bone downward to a chorus of horrible grinding and crackling noises.

“Lizenne, what the heck is that?” Lance blurted, staring at the disappearing femur.

She rejoined them and picked up her knife again. “I can't pronounce the name that the dragons have for them, but it translates roughly as 'bone-grinders'. They're a sort of insect that lives in large hives beneath the grassroots, and they're largely responsible for getting the nutrients in large-animal bones back into the soil and plant life. And some of the smaller animal life as well; there are burrowing creatures that depend on those hives for much of their food.”

“That's the great circle of life talking,” Pidge said cheerfully.

“Zampedran life is hardcore,” Lance quipped, and gave Lizenne a sidelong look. “So, when were you going to warn us about the evil bone-eating ants?”

“It wasn't necessary,” Lizenne replied, paring meat away from another heavy leg bone with three economical slices. “I've already told you that there were creatures here that needed such things, and they're largely harmless to us. Their bite is painful, but they won't eat anything that isn't already dead.”

“It does mean that we can't dawdle in our work, though,” Modhri added, throwing a few of the smaller leg bones into the grasses, not too far away from the rapidly-disappearing femur. “The insects are not known for their patience. On Zampedri, nothing is wasted. Nothing at all.”

“And it's not alone there, to tell the truth,” Coran mused. “There's a lot of good eating on bones, if you're built for it. Alfor and his team used to run into that sort of thing fairly frequently, as a matter of fact, generally being used for effect in evil secret lairs, but there were always wild examples lying in wait to bite the unwary foot, and it got pretty weird in spots. Why, we once visited a planet where just about every dry-land vertebrate shed their bones about three or four times a year, including the people, and everything got very floppy for a while before they grew a new set.”

Allura gave him a suspicious look. “You are making that up.”

“Wait until I show you the recordings Trigel took,” Coran retorted. “There we were, having a chat with their Grand Enumerator, when _flop!_ Peeled right off of his skeleton like an ill-fitting jumpsuit, he did, bones clattering to the floor, just like that! Blaytz nearly blew a gasket, Gyrgan fainted, and Alfor and Zarkon had to spend several doboshes finding a way to fold the fellow up neatly on an endtable before the talks could continue. Those had to be suspended a short time later when the rhooshap grubs hatched out and began eating up all of those bones. Not a sight for the faint of stomach, I'm afraid, and the Castle pretty much battened down the hatches and stayed that way until the grubs pupated. That was one of the worlds that we visited only once, as I recall.”

“I'll bet,” Pidge said, making a face. “So, what came out of the cocoons?”

Coran made a face as well. “Big, hairy, stripy things with a hundred and fifty long, bristly legs each, I'm afraid. They got absolutely everywhere and went into mass mating frenzies wherever and whenever they pleased, and left huge smelly egg masses all over the place. The locals pretty much ignored them, but we left in a hurry, I don't mind telling you, and the Castle staff ran a ship-wide decontamination procedure without having to be told. Dear, sweet, kindly old Mother Nature has a nasty sense of humor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *beats back the champagne-crazed mobs* I hope everyone had a happy holiday of their choice, and will have an enjoyable New Year! Here's to something other than the kidney stone that this one was, so everyone be kind to yourselves and stay safe!


	9. And Back To Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to open this chapter with a clever and witty comment, but I'm working on two hours of sleep and my IQ right now is about on par with a block of plaster. So here, have this lovely chapter, and I will go walk into a wall for a little while. Happy reading!

Chapter 9: And Back To Work

The gift of fresh meat to Modhri's people was accepted both instantly and eagerly, and with a peculiar reverence that made Hunk suspect that another one of those cultural things was at work again, and Avaris was quick to confirm that.

“It's very, very important,” she told him while they sliced up the ingredients for the mother of all stir-fry. “To take a neighboring Matriarch and her best men hunting in her territory is a political thing, an open declaration of alliance. For the Hekabar'Harcho of one House to offer his own catch to the other, for the entirety of that House to share, is a declaration of kinship. A Hekabar'Harcho does not feed unworthy strangers.”

Hunk couldn't help but smile at that. “So, we've sort of adopted you guys?”

“Yes, and through your own declared kinship with Lizenne, her House as well.” Avaris leaned over and kissed his cheek lightly. “We look forward to when we may establish a new House on Zampedri, right next to hers.”

“Cool,” Hunk said happily. “So, it's all cool between Ghurap'Han and you guys now, right? Her branch of the family, at least?”

Avaris snorted, finished chopping her vegetables, poured them into a waiting basin, and reached for more. “She is no longer of Ghurap'Han. That kin-link has been renounced and broken, first by her Matriarch, who declared her dead, and then by Lizenne herself, through her own actions to free us, her man's Lineage. She uses the name only for convenience until she can establish a new one. First, however, we must help her, and you, to remove our mutual enemies. It is only right and proper.”

Hunk was glad to have their help and said so, but he rolled that odd bit of fact around in the back of his mind while he showed Avaris and her helpers how best to marinate and cook the huge meal, along with masses of crispy fried noodles. They would have to send an update back to Earth at some point, and it would be a good thing if Earth's diplomats knew a thing or two about traditional Galra alliance customs. Idly, he wondered whether or not Nasty and his people had made contact with Earth yet, and if so, how well were they getting along with the Hoshinthra. Well, next time they knocked into the _Quandary,_ he'd make a point of asking Antler Guy about it. In the meantime, he had responsibilities of his own.

The first of those, of course, was to make sure that every one of their guests got their fair share of the mountainous atinbuk stir-fry, and that was fun; the Castle had gigantic dining halls, obviously intended for major diplomatic functions and other large-scale events, and nothing made Hunk happier than seeing so many people enjoying his work. Lelannis herself thanked him fulsomely and allowed him to excuse himself to see to his own team's happiness, and Hunk was perfectly willing to leave them to it. He had a wheel of cheddar that needed testing.

It was a classic cheddar, not the pumpkin-orange, mass-produced stuff that was so prevalent back on Earth, but a mellow, rich-smelling round of the same pale gold as the rising moon, free of preservatives and unnecessary additives, and it filled the room with its distinctive aroma the moment that he opened the curing chamber. Like a High Priest of some bovine-oriented religion preparing a sacrament, he reverently pulled the wheel out and bore it into the kitchen, placing it on the cutting board where it was sure to be admired and adored. Smiling happily, Hunk assembled the ingredients for the special supper that he'd been planning for weeks. A half-and-half mixture of atinbuk boneless short rib and brisket, ground coarsely for the best texture. Fresh macaroni pasta, made with an improved extruder that he'd designed himself, a little salt, a little starch, a little fresh milk and cream, some steamed veggies and a salad... and, of course,The Cheese.

He selected his best knife and cut a wedge from that perfect round, holding it up to the light to admire the color, then broke off the point to taste it.

Perfect.

Smooth, creamy, full-flavored, and with enough bite to get the attention of even the dullest palates. Humming his favorite tune, he sliced and grated cheese, measured out ingredients, cut up vegetables, set water to boil, and patted out perfect patties; it did not surprise him at all when his teammates began to appear magically in the doorway, sniffing hopefully at the fragrances emanating from the cooktop. Heroism was nice, Hunk thought as he laid the first patties into the frying pan, and the adulation of the masses was okay now and again, but nothing beat the appreciation of the people you loved the best for doing something you were good at.

His smile broadened when he heard Erantha whisper over the crackling of the cooking burgers, “What is he doing, and what is that yellow stuff? It smells incredible!”

“Frying burgers,” Keith replied, the yearning in his voice palpable. “And that's cheddar cheese. The good stuff. Holy crud, I haven't had any in _years.”_

“The stuff in the pots is macaroni-and-cheese,” Pidge informed her in a knowledgeable tone that turned suspicious a moment later. “Shiro, if you keep staring at those pots like that, they're going to run away screaming. Seriously, you look more predatory than Kevaah does right now.”

“I will help him hunt them,” Kevaah said staunchly. “They have no antlers.”

“It's good,” added Zaianne. “Khaeth's father used to make it fairly frequently, and in job lots. I could never get quite enough, especially while I was pregnant.”

“You're not alone there,” Lance said darkly. “One of my cousins was pregnant with twins a few years before we left, and she would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and make herself bowls of mac'n'cheese, and then mix in, like, a tablespoon of red pepper flakes and half a jar of _nopalitos_. That's pickled cactus slices to you, and it grossed the rest of us out so much that she didn't have to share. Those cravings are a pain in the butt sometimes, right?”

Zaianne hummed in agreement. “I've found that roasted scorpions and kimchi help with that. Khaeth, let him put the food on the table first. We do not attack the cook.”

Hunk snorted in amusement and glanced over his shoulder at the eager crowd. “Yeah, or I might get pouty and stop cooking. Get the table set, you guys, the salad's ready and the veg should be done by now, and we've still got some of that sauce with the shishseeds in it in the fridge. I've got some sliced phor bulbs and korwa in there, too, and even some space pickles. Buns are on the counter over there, and the noodles and burgers'll be done in a minute. Who wants cheese on theirs? Shiro, stop that, you're making my cookware nervous.”

_Blorp,_ went the bubbling pots of cheesy goodness, and Allura dragged Shiro away to set out the cutlery, but he never took his eyes off of the macaroni. A chorus of voices requested cheeseburgers over the rattle of dishware, and Hunk flipped the burgers, laying thin slices of cheddar over the perfectly browned tops. A minute or two later, the burgers were transferred to the waiting platter and he took in the first load to his team. From the way the others grabbed at the platter, Hunk was pretty sure that the first batch would be gone by the time that the second was ready, but that was fine. The whimpers of ecstasy that emanated from the dining room made it all worth it. The mac'n'cheese was ready in any case, and that would slow them down a little. He was just giving it a last stir when he heard Coran's voice coming from the dining room.

“Oh, my, doesn't that smell heavenly!” Coran said cheerfully. “Sorry I'm late, team, but I was helping Chulatt train the newbies in how to steer this old ship properly, and we lost track of time. We didn't notice a thing until Neline came up, all splashed with sauce and smelling like fried atinbuk with greens. I think she was looking for you, Kevaah, and was a bit miffed when she didn't find you there. Gave me a right nip on the shin.”

“I'm sorry,” Kevaah said, sounding genuinely contrite.

“Don't be, I was wearing my shin guards, and she'll have to learn about life's little disappointments sooner or later, anyway. Bit of a twofer, to tell you the truth. One of the Paswilqs nipped her rump, and that quite took her mind off of your absence. Do pass me a bun and one of those cheesy meat things, if you would.”

There was a menacing growl that made Hunk snicker.

“Keith, let him have a burger,” Lance said sternly. “Come on, he helped with the carcasses and everything.”

There was another growl.

“Hey, maybe if I bat my eyelashes at him...” Pidge said, and there was a pause, followed by a giggle. “Hey, it's working!”

Allura laughed. “I wonder if that will work for me.”

There was another pause, and a burst of laughter from Lance. “Aw, you two are making him blush! Okay, guys, all together now—you too, Shiro—on the count of three! One! Two! Three!”

The third pause was followed by a strangled scream and a thump, and Coran humphed thoughtfully. “Was hiding under the table the desired result?”

“Yes, if it gets him away from the platter,” Zaianne said. “Grab yours now, or you'll be forced to hunt for crumbs under the table with the other small wild animals.”

“ _Madame!”_ Coran objected. “I am not, nor have I ever been, a small wild animal. It was always big and wild or nothing, particularly when fighting Gyrgan for the condiments. Speaking of that, I've made up a bit of a chutney that should go very well with this 'cheddar' stuff, and is excellent on noodles of every sort. Speaking of which, is it ready yet, Hunk?”

Figuring that for his cue, he hefted one of the macaroni pots and carried it into the room. “Sure thing,” he said proudly. “Okay, guys, the main attraction, a nice big pot of—huh?”

The pot had vanished. Hunk stared at his empty hands in perplexity. “Well, it  _was_ a nice big pot of mac'n'cheese. Where the heck did...  _Shiro!”_

Shiro had also vanished from his chair, and was now sitting on the floor in the back of the room, mantling over the pot like a hawk over a kill and shoveling hot, cheesy goodness into his mouth with the ladle.

Hunk propped his fists on his hips and scowled at his team leader, who continued to shovel unabashedly. “Seriously, Shiro? You just bent actual time to steal the cheesy mac? Seriously? Is this a responsible use of your cosmic powers? I hope you're using it to cool that stuff down some right now, or you're going to burn your tongue something awful. Keith, stop lurking and tell me what this is all about, okay?”

Keith climbed back into his chair with a shrug, though Hunk noted that the tips of his ears were still red. “I thought you knew. Shiro's favorite food back at Galaxy Garrison was the mac'n'cheese. The lunch ladies used to have to barricade the cafeteria doors if he was around, or nobody else would get any. Really, he can just about eat his own age in bowlfuls. I'm kind of surprised that you hadn't heard about that.”

Hunk snapped his fingers. “No, wait, I did hear some rumors, but I thought it was just an urban legend, like cryptids or something. Great. Everyone else gets Mothman and Bat-Baby, and we wind up with the Mad Mac Monster. Fine. It's a good thing that I've got another pot of that cooking. And somebody give him some napkins, all right? He's splashing.”

It was the work of a minute to get the rest of the food onto the table, and Hunk doled out bowls of hot mac to the others while trying to ignore the appreciative burps and slurping noises from the far corner. It was all worth it, he thought a moment later, after his first bite of the good stuff. The Hoshinthra had a point—Earth was well worth the trouble of protecting, if only for a really good cheddar. After a time, Shiro rejoined them at table, and at least had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself.

“Sorry about that,” he said, putting the empty pot down on a spare napkin. “It's been a long time, and, well...”

Keith wordlessly patted him on the shoulder.

Hunk shrugged. “Don't worry about it. This is a really good batch, and I can guarantee that most of my folks and all of Lance's folks would have done the same, except maybe without the time-tricks.”

“Mine, too,” Pidge offered, “and Dad and Matt would probably build a time machine, just so they could steal future pots, too. This is really good, Hunk. How are things going downstairs?”

Hunk wiped his face with a napkin and smiled happily. “Everybody piled in with gusto. Avaris says that we're all one big happy family now, and that she wants to move to Zampedri, too. Galra took sharing food really seriously in the old days, didn't they?”

Zaianne's lips twisted in a grim smile. “It was necessary. Galra packs tended to be numerous, which made the proper management of resources within their domains to be of paramount importance. Every mouthful was precious, and absolutely nothing was wasted. Even after we developed animal husbandry and agriculture, the correct apportioning of food held great importance. A great portion of the Hekabar'Harcho's duties was to decide who got what, and how much. We live in a privileged era now, but the old customs still hold very true, particularly when two or more Lineages are proposing an alliance.”

“And the better the food, the better the gift,” Erantha put in. “I, personally, would not turn down a gift of cheese.”

“Nor I,” Kevaah said, reaching for another helping of macaroni. “I would like to take a little to Neline and her brothers. This is very good.”

Coran chuckled and mixed a spoonful of mysterious pink stuff into his bowl, and a whiff of something that smelled slightly of mango and gym socks made Keith's nose wrinkle. “She's too young for you, lad. You're better off faunching after someone nearer your own age.”

Kevaah grunted. “I do not see her as a potential mate. I see her as a little sister and I love her as such, which is not the same thing. I have done the math. I am not all that much older than she is, chronologically speaking.”

Allura frowned at him. “Kevaah, you have to be in your twenties at least. She's only two or three decaphebes old.”

“Physically, yes. Chronologically, no.” Kevaah took another bite of macaroni and stared reflectively into the distance while he chewed and swallowed. “I cannot say that I and my brothers were born. We were decanted instead, and at a physical age of about fifteen. The Ghamparva had no intention of waiting over a decade for their newest bio-weapons to grow up enough to train. Our physical and intellectual growth was artificially-accelerated; I do not know or understand the methods used, but they were extremely uncomfortable. When the Blades claimed us, we were given other lessons by different means, although they were no less difficult to absorb. We did not take it well, although what we learned to value, we held very dear. Dear enough, in my case, that I would defy Kolivan's express orders not to attempt the rescue my foster-mother, and to fail, and to spend approximately eleven years in stasis. Time spent in stasis does not count, because one neither ages nor learns while contained thus. One does not even dream. I am perhaps... yes. Nine years old by the common clock. Closer to eight and a half, actually, but who's counting?”

Lance groaned. “Holy crow, man, that's horrible! What are you doing outside of a Marvel comic book? Not that I wouldn't expect the Ghamparva to do something like that, they're made of horrible, but seriously?”

Zaianne nodded grimly. “The Ghamparva indulge themselves in a number of sciences that are flatly illegal for anyone else, and they attempt to develop a working super-soldier template every fifty years or so, on average. Kevaah's series came very close to the ideal, save for the fact that they're difficult to manage at the best of times, and uncontrollable when agitated.”

Kevaah chuckled wickedly. “The Ghamparva have no granola, nor do they have cake, nor do they give tummy-rubs. A vast oversight.”

“I'll say, Coran said darkly, “although it would have taken whole truckloads of our best cuisine and the forty-eight hands of a Jarnuvian professional masseuse to soothe some of the lab-grown troops that Alfor and the others ran into. It's not at all uncommon for your average tyrant to want a big band of bespoke bruisers all for their very own, and if they can't find the right sort of recruits, they'll just get the household mad scientist to brew something up. It's a little sad, really. Zarkon used to hate that sort of thing, and now he's allowing it.”

Erantha sneered and reached for the steamed greens. “Tyrants have poor judgment.”

“Not always,” Coran rebutted, helping himself to the salad. “There was one bunch we ran into that approached the whole thing backwards. That was the Efferchauls of Grankraow, to be precise. They called us up and begged us to remove the most dastardly despot in history—Prangschalar the Benevolent. Odd fellow.”

Allura gave him a quizzical look. “Benevolent?”

Coran deposited a dollop of shishseed sauce on his veggies with practiced flair. “Mm-hmm. And he was, too, which upset the rest of them terribly. The Efferchauls were all bloodthirsty marauders, you see, culturally and psychologically, and he wouldn't let them have any fun at all. No massacring their neighbors, no torturing prisoners, no declaring war on other planets just because they were bored, and he used to redecorate whole cities in pastel colors and pretty flowers when he was feeling muscular. Sometimes he'd even replace the ceremonial skull-piles with giant statues of cute fluffy animals if the neighborhoods tried to resist, and he was in the process of forcing his subjects to accept organized team sports in place of gang wars by the time they called Alfor in. He did have his own private army of lab-grown secret police, of course. They called 'em the Lacemakers.”

“You are making this up,” Lance accused. “Seriously? Lacemakers?”

“Lacemakers,” Coran declared firmly. “They were called that for their habit of tidying up the place after their operations, and leaving pretty lace doilies on all the furniture as a calling-card. Oh, they struck terror into the hearts of the populace with their disarming body language, their uncanny ability to get people to drop all of their carefully-honed grudges, and even the bravest of alpha-males went weak in the knees at the very mention of their ice-cream socials. As you can see, the Efferchauls were in dire straits by their standards, although other civilizations weren't all that sympathetic. Trigel laughed so hard that she was only able to slap their emissary twice, when he begged her to put an end to their dreadless ruler and his band of unhomicidal non-maniacs.”

Kevaah snorted. “I am outmatched. I do not think that I could organize an ice-cream social.”

“It's harder than it looks,” Coran agreed. “Nevertheless, Melenor came to a mutually beneficial agreement with Prangschalar and introduced the concept of political debate teams as a substitute for mayhem. Thankfully, they just loved it. Screaming yourself green in the face at a political rival is just as wonderfully cathartic as bashing his head in, and it doesn't leave quite so large a mess on the floor, and you don't ache afterwards. The Lacemakers had to retire after a few local decades of that, but they didn't mind. All that free time let them catch up on their knitting.”

“And that's something that you can do, Kevaah,” Keith said. “You knit a mean pair of socks, buddy.”

Erantha rolled her eyes, but Kevaah only smiled. “My socks are excellent. Lance says that he will show me how to make hats next, like the one the cubs have been playing with, and I shall give the first one to my baby sister.”

Lance puffed a laugh, envisioning whole hordes of bobble-tops trotting around the halls. “Yeah, I found a good pattern, but we're going to have a lot of trouble keeping them out of the pom-pons. Galra babies are worse than kittens that way.”

Zaianne chuckled. “And would you have it any other way?”

Lance reflected upon the long string of newborn cousins that he'd witnessed and babysat for most of his life. A glance at Keith afforded him a mental image of what his teammate might have looked and acted like at that age. “Nah,” he said, reaching for another burger and imagining toddler Keith trying to savage Zaianne's leg with his entirely inadequate Human baby teeth. “This is a lot more fun.”

“Is all in readiness?” Lotor asked, gazing thoughtfully at the ship's forward screens, his forces arrayed neatly to either side of his flagship.

“Yessir,” Tilwass said, frowning at that same view; unlike the Prince, he had a bad feeling about this. “Everyone's in position and ready to go, and the Ghost Fleet won't be in a good position to run 'em off.”

Lotor smiled. His depredations upon those colony garrisons had left them open to attack, and Gantarash were not the only opportunists lurking in the dark places of that region, and the Fleet was stretched as thin as tissue paper in its attempts to manage the fallout. They would have no choice but to summon Voltron if they wanted to keep their most valuable supporters intact, and where that big robot went, the two support ships went as well. Lotor toyed with the idea of taking the Castle and the _Chimera_ intact, if only for the technological secrets they contained, but shrugged it off. If the opportunity presented itself, he would take it; if not, then not. The Castle would serve his purposes just as well scattered in small pieces around some star or other, and that went double for the Hanifor science ship. It might be interesting to interrogate as clever a witch as Lizenne, but anyone who could spirit an entire Lineage out from under the nose of a High House Matriarch might well be too dangerous to have around.

_Stick with the plan,_ Lotor scolded himself; rash action had already cost him dearly several times before this, and he had no intention of letting himself get carried away this time. All they had to do was to kill, capture, or cripple the support ships. If Voltron could be hounded away from any friendly ports and mobbed constantly thereafter, it would be only a matter of time before they would be forced to capitulate. Costly in ships, perhaps, but he had many ships, and the capture of the Lions would pay for everything.

Lotor turned his attention to his Lieutenant at that point, and frowned at the scowl he saw on Tilwass's face. “You are not confident of our plan, Tilwass?”

Tilwass shrugged. “No, the plan's a good one—simple, straightforward, and to the point. I'm just a little worried about the space we're in, is all.”

Lotor rolled his eyes. “We know the Bamnapos Sector well. It should not cause us problems.”

Tilwass waved a hand at the navigator's section, where a star chart glittered on his screens. “We're just a little too close to the Edge for comfort, sir. Beyond a certain point, the Empire just stops. The border hasn't moved a bit in more than twenty standard years, sir.”

Lotor's eyebrows lifted. “Any idea why?”

Tilwass gestured a negative. “Nothing confirmed. Plenty of rumors and dockside scuttlebutt, though. Some say that there's a whole other empire on the far side, some say that it's solid space monsters all the way down. Either way, plenty of exploratory ships have gone looking to expand the borders in that direction, and they haven't come back. The only thing that is known for sure is that there's a race of people living somewhere in between. They're called Ortakans, and they trade precious metals and exotic gems for good-quality slaves. Galra slaves, often as not.”

Lotor humphed disapprovingly. “And has anyone rushed the border at the head of an armada?”

“Nope,” Tilwass replied, glumly accepting his fate. The boy had no caution at all.

“Then I doubt that we will have any difficulties, should we find ourselves in unknown territory,” Lotor said impatiently. “There is no point in borrowing trouble, particularly when we've some of our own to cause. Sound the attack! Today, we capture the Lions!”

“Yessir,” Tilwass said, and began to give the necessary orders.

_Giggle-giggle-giggle-giggle!_

_Patter-patter-patter-patter._

Captain Dablinnit and the emissaries from the Vausshar, Coolox, and Zader's Raiders rebel groups stared as a swarm of bobble-tops trotted past the door. Shiro didn't even bother to look, and neither did Allura. Lance and Kevaah had made good on their threat to provide knitted hats for the multitude over the past few days, in multiple and often eye-watering colors, and had enlisted several of the older cubs to help produce bucketloads of pom-poms. All of the hats had been sized for the little monsters to grow into, and as a result, one ran the risk of being ambushed in the halls by roving packs of ferocious haberdashery. Tilwass's hat was still making the rounds, of course; it was the only one striped in red, orange, and yellow, and many duels had been fought over it. He'd seen it this morning, as a matter of fact, perched on Kevaah's shoulders and being worn by that little girl-cub he'd gotten so fond of. Shiro sighed. Just from looking at her expression of savage self-satisfaction, he knew that Neline would be trouble when she grew up.

“Dare I ask?” the Coolox emissary asked, shifting both anterior and posterior eyestalks to follow the action.

Allura gave him a weary smile. “We stole the power of a Galra High House recently, that being a subordinate Lineage. We took in every member we could find, and that included rather a lot of young children, and they need to be kept amused. Hats seem to be the favorite toy right now.”

Dablinnit gave her a doggish smile. “Nelargo Shipyard. Hah! That'll force a slowdown in warship production, all right. For a while, anyway. All the same, you're treating them like guests. Is that wise?”

_Giggle-giggle-giggle-giggle!_ Went the horde of traveling hats, trundling back the other way.  _Patter-patter-patter-patter._

Shiro smiled. “They're Modhri's family, and were all too glad to get away from Ghurap'Han. We, Lizenne, and their Matriarch have made a good alliance, which means that their shipwrights and engineers will be working for the Coalition. A lot of Nelargo's production was tied up with building Ghamparva ships, and I'm happier with having that technology on our side than on Zarkon's. They're good people, and the cubs are cute.”

There was a burst of excited squeaking from down the hall, and an extra-fast patter of many little feet. Once again, the group of colorful and pom-pom-bedecked hats sped by, this time followed by something larger. Tilla, as a matter of fact, whose fearsome appearance had been somewhat softened by the enormous knitted hat she was wearing. Everybody in the room stared unabashedly. It was striped in pink, green, and yellow, and the pom-pom on top was as big as a soccer ball. Tennis ball-sized ones dangled from the earflap ties, swinging comically below her jaw.  _“Gronk,”_ she said, looking pleased with herself as she trotted after the cubs.

“Is this _normal?”_ the Vausshar emissary asked, whiskers twitching doubtfully.

Shiro couldn't contain his puff of laughter. “It might as well be. We don't do much that is normal around here. Did you need something, Lance, and why is Tilla wearing a Jayne hat?”

Lance had indeed poked his head curiously through the door, and it surprised no one that he was also wearing a knitted hat in shades of blue. “She saw Kevaah speed-knitting hats for the anklebiters and wanted one, too. What the heck, we've got a lot of yarn, and I wanted a challenge. I offered to make Soluk one, too, but he blew me a raspberry and went down to the dragon's den for a nap. He's got a lot of dignity to uphold. Hey, Captain, long time, no see! Should I tell Pidge that you're visiting?”

“After we're done here,” Dablinnit replied regretfully, “business before pleasure, and all that. These three gentlebeings here are considering joining forces with us, and wanted to meet with the black Paladins.”

Lance gave their guests his best welcoming smile. “Hey, welcome aboard. I'm Lance, Paladin of the blue Lion, and we need all the help we can get.”

The emissary from Zader's Raiders, a hulking, blue-black Keegwapp, rumbled humorously and raised his/their bright red dorsal crest an appreciative degree or two. He/they had been silent since they had arrived, and surprised Allura a little by responding to Lance's admission. “Honesty: it is good. The Empire: it is vast. Their military: it is overwhelming. The Coalition: it is not easily overwhelmed. The Ghost Fleet: it is most inclusive. The Paladins: they do not seek the ultimate destruction of foes?”

“No,” Allura said firmly. “There has been far too much of that already. Our quarrel is with Zarkon and Haggar, as well as the most dangerous of their cronies. We bear no animosity toward the people themselves, and would prefer to leave the Empire reasonably intact.”

“Just under new management,” Lance added. “We're pretty sure that we can teach Galra how to play nice with the neighbors, and we don't want the kind of trouble you get when a civilization collapses. It'll be better for everyone if the Empire stays mostly intact.”

“And governing only themselves,” Dablinnit growled. “How is Kelezar coming along, anyway?”

Shiro waggled a hand. “I asked Kolivan about that recently and he says that Kelezar's doing well enough, but it's a big job to take on. Possibly too big for one person. If we could somehow get our hands on one or more of the other princes, we might be able to train them up to be something better than tyrants.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Hunk said from the doorway. He was carrying a large platter of assorted cookies, and Pidge was right behind him with a stack of cups and a carafe of steaming hantic tea. “Bantax says that most of Zarkon's kids live either in the Center or on Galran Prime, and that all of them have some really big entitlement issues. We could try to catch Lotor, I suppose.”

“Pass,” Pidge said, putting the tea and cups on the table. “He's a doofus. I liked that older guy he had with him, though. Hey, Dablinnit! Did you ever get around to checking in on your cousins?”

Dablinnit's ears drooped, and his dark eyes took on a long-suffering cast. “I did indeed, Miss, and with predictable results. They're willing to throw their lot in with ours, but only if I marry one of the Duchesses and consent to being crowned King along with it. They had the wedding and coronation all set up and ready to go at a moment's notice, and the Priest was already drunk on sacred mead! I can't do that, I've still got an Empire to overthrow! They'd make me wear  _royal robes,_ Varda!”

That caused smiles around the table; Dablinnit's dislike for anything other than casual wear was well known. Lance tugged on one earflap. “Hey, maybe Ketzewan's fashionista can come up with something, and I've got a few ideas in that direction myself. How do you feel about--”

Unfortunately, Allura's wrist-comm pinged sharply at that point.

“ _Allura, I need you up here, now!”_ Zaianne snapped before anyone could speak. _“We've just gotten a distress call from Halidex—they're under attack and the Fleet needs us there! Paladins, get to your Lions, it's the Prince again.”_

Hunk brought down a fist hard on the table, making the teacups jump.  _“Not_ cool! Holy crap, did nobody ever teach that jerk any manners? We'll be right there, Zaianne.”

“ _Good. I've notified the_ Chimera _and the_ Trinary _, and everybody aboard those ships shares your opinion of the Prince, loudly and with gusto.”_ Zaianne growled. _“So do I.”_

“Sorry, gotta-go-bye,” Lance said, running out of the room, Hunk and Pidge hot on his heels, even as Zaianne keyed the PA system and began ordering the engineers to their posts and the passengers to take cover in their rooms.

“We'll continue this later,” Shiro told their guests, nudging the cookie platter in the emissaries' direction. “Dablinnit, will you be coming with us?”

Dablinnit, already on his feet, gestured a negative. “My allotted region can't spare me—we've Gantarash sniffing around, and Ploshurans, who are almost worse. I'll take these gentlebeings with me.”

Shiro nodded. “Right. Take the cookies, too. Allura, do you want to pilot the Lion, or should I?”

She pulled the bayard out of a pocket and tossed it to him. “It's your turn to drive, and they'll need you.”

He caught the bayard and saluted her with it, and hurried out of the room. Allura turned and gave her guests a small bow of respect and a murmured, “If you will kindly excuse us.”

“Get going,” the Vausshar emissary said, signing a blessing at her, even as the others emptied the cookie platter. “We will maintain order here.”

“Thank you,” Allura said, and ran for the bridge as battle alarms began to blare.

“You should not have brought her,” Erantha said coldly.

Kevaah smiled faintly and kept his eyes forward. “I did not bring her. She brought herself.”

“You should not have allowed her to do so,” Erantha admonished.

“Does not a Galra woman go where she pleases?” Kevaah said silkily, reaching up and patting his passenger. “Is not the universe itself her domain?”

Erantha had to stop herself from thumping her fist on the defense-drone station's armrest. “She is not a woman yet! She's only a cub, and her mother will skin you alive if she gets hurt up here.”

The girl-cub sitting on Kevaah's shoulders tightened her grip on his ears and growled at Erantha, making Kevaah's smile widen. “It'll grow back. Skin is easy. Neline does not care what her mother thinks, and is willing to risk a few bumps and bruises if it gets her more new experiences.”

Erantha took a deep, calming breath. “Kevaah, she is a _baby._ She cannot possibly know the risks. Take her back to her parents right now.”

Kevaah's smile vanished. “Babies perceive rather more of their world than adults might like to think. I certainly did. It's too late now, in any case.”

“ _Aaaaiieeep!”_ Neline shrieked, bouncing excitedly as Allura dashed in to claim her rightful place on the pilot's dais. Coran was right behind her and practically dove headfirst into the console. Zaianne leaped lithely down from the dais, allowing Allura to take up the pilot's post and shouting coordinates at Coran. A few seconds later, once the _Trinary_ had retreated to a safe distance, they were plunging into the watery blue circle of a wormhole. Neline squeaked loudly in excitement as the screens filled with the rather beautiful rippling azure-and-aqua of the space-time tunnel.

Zaianne glanced back in surprise, and chuckled. “Oh, dear. Shall I send for her mother?”

“Yes!” Erantha said.

Kevaah ignored her. “Neline will captain a flagship when she is older,” the dark-furred man said cheerfully, “and wishes to get in some early experience. She climbed right up my leg when you summoned me, Auntie, and would not let go.”

“ _Eeep!”_ Neline said proudly, snuggling into Kevaah's thick mane. _“Grrrgrrrgrrr!”_

Zaianne snorted a laugh. “So I see. Erantha, if you keep scowling like that, your face will stick that way. She's just as safe right where she is as she would be anywhere else right now. Alteans believed in armoring the whole craft, rather than just the passenger quarters. Who knows? A bold child at the helm might just bring us luck.”

Erantha rolled her eyes. “That's just an old legend.”

“Girl, you are sitting in an old legend, which houses another old legend, which is piloted by six more legends, all of which may be a part of a legend that is nearly as old as the Galran race itself.” Zaianne walked over and scratched Neline's bushy ruff. “Play your cards right and you'll be legendary as well. Ah. And here's a good place to start.”

They had come out of the wormhole now, and into a scene of battle. Halidex glowed in the background as ships made war on each other above it, and Neline let out a very creditable battlescreech at the sight of them. Coran and Allura glanced back over their shoulders at them curiously, but grinned at the defiance in that high-pitched yowl. It was a vote of confidence, for all that it was being offered by one so young, but it lifted their hearts nonetheless. They needed it; Voltron would have its hands full with this one. Halidex had a sizable home guard, as per their agreement with the Fleet, but they were badly outnumbered.

A window popped up on the forward screens, showing the graying, wombat-like visage of old Voan Lenna, his tricorn hat askew and wearing an expression of mingled strain and relief. _“There you are,”_ he said shortly, _“and just in time—the enemy is trying to fire on the planet!”_

“We will not permit it,” Allura replied staunchly, positioning the Castle for a strafing run and motioning Coran to raise the particle barrier and warm up the main cannon. “What is your situation?”

“ _Bad,”_ Voan Lenna replied. _“We had no warning. They simply appeared and started shooting, with none of the usual demands for surrender. The Prince's ships are old, but have had some unusual upgrades, and they are far harder to combat than they should be. There have been a number of casualties already. We cannot expect other aid than what you yourselves might bring us; Yantilee tells me that five other worlds are also under attack even as we speak, and no ships may be spared, lest we lose those planets.”_

Allura frowned. “And Governor Kherig's garrison—is he helping or hindering?”

Voan Lenna made a gesture of mild amazement. _“Kherig is a very brave man. He is helping us, despite the danger to himself and his men. He has permitted Zoallam to repaint his ships in the Coalition's colors, perhaps to suggest that they are among the craft that Miss Varda has stolen for us, but he fights alongside us to protect the planet. If we survive this, he will be honored for his courage.”_

“Very good,” Allura said, “get the damaged ships clear, Voan Lenna. Team, are you ready?”

There was a chorus of affirmatives from the Lions, and a loud and angry declaration from Pidge. _“That stupid Prince is trying to shoot at Ronok's school! Let me at him!”_

“Launch!” Allura commanded, and the Castle vibrated slightly as five Lions went forth to do battle.

Allura watched them go with only a small twinge of envy, moving the Castle to where it would be of the most use; a Fleet ship was in trouble nearby, its shields flickering under a hail of fire from a swarm of drones. Coran's fingers danced on the controls, and a hail of seeker pulses from the particle barrier spewed out to wipe them away. “Why are they attacking Halidex?” she asked, half to herself. “Lotor should know better than this, particularly after what happened last time.”

Erantha made a soft sound of disapproval. “Actually, you should be asking yourself why the Empire _hasn't_ struck at them before this. It is known that Halidex is a major Coalition world, and the Fleet is no small threat. Perhaps Lotor seeks to get back into his father's good graces.”

Coran chuckled and took aim at a hurtling light cruiser. “Wouldn't be the first time I've seen that happen. Princes tend to overreact when they feel threatened. Liable to do all sorts of silly things, really, particularly if their poppas make it clear that the fun's over for keeps if they foul up one more time.”

“ _I find it more likely that he's done this to lure us out of the shadows,”_ Lizenne said, her voice low and suspicious, her ship's beams scoring long trenches in the light cruiser's engine section. _“Voltron in particular. Never forget that Zarkon's obsession may be the key to Lotor's survival. Taking Halidex would be nothing more than a bonus, and not one that he'd be able to keep for long. Yantilee wouldn't permit it.”_

Modhri hummed thoughtfully. _“Be wary. I don't like the shape of his battle formations. Something's not right—even with the home guard fending them off, this is not the standard formation for either taking on a mixed fleet or bombarding a planet.”_

The black Lion zoomed past, Jawblade manifested, and ripped open a destroyer's hull; following hot on Shiro's trail was Keith, keeping their flight path clear of fighters with a storm of brilliant ion bolts. Zaianne frowned. “You're right. It's too loose. It looks as if he can't make up his mind between the two.”

Neline didn't care either way, and bounced up and down on Kevaah's shoulders, squeaking enthusiastically at the sight of the yellow Lion smashing through another swarm of fighter drones. Kevaah steadied her with one hand and ran the peculiar pattern through his memory; he'd been required to memorize all of the standard Imperial formations and tactics as a part of early training, and couldn't help but to agree. He did not doubt that the Prince had had at least some of the same sort of training, and could not believe that this was the act of an amateur. “This is deliberate,” he stated firmly. “It looks undecided, but there is a purpose to it.”

Erantha shot him a sharp look. “And that purpose is?”

Kevaah shook his head, and frowned at a squadron of heavy cruisers that had turned to engage the Lions, and were pelting them with cannon fire. “I can't see it yet.”

Coran spat a curse. “Those big lads over there are trying to line up on the planet again. They look to be targeting the Palace.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Allura snapped back. _“Chimera,_ do you see them?”

“ _As plain as day,”_ Modhri replied. _“We'll guard your back.”_

“Stand by to fire the main cannon, Coran,” Allura growled. “Right across the command decks. I want those ships out of action, permanently.”

A blare of polychrome color in the distance heralded the assembly of the Lions into Voltron, the massed fire of seven heavies being a bit much for an unattached Lion to handle. There was a whirl of green and red, and an orange flash as one of the cruisers caught the Sword where it hurt. The other six swept past the giant battle robot, heaved themselves into a ponderous U-turn that shouldn't have been possible for them at those speeds, and charged straight at Voltron with all guns blazing. Voltron was forced to retreat a considerable distance away—he was faster than those ships, but could not deflect all of their fire. There was a flash of gold at his shoulder, and a flood of brilliant seeker pulses spewed out to pepper the oncoming ships with devastating force.

Kevaah frowned at the view, even as Allura and Coran took the Castle on a blistering run past the would-be bombardiers, the vast beam of the Castle's main gun shattering their shields. Something was missing, he thought, and his sharp eyes flickered over the screens, searching for what should be there, and wasn't. He had only been with this crew for a very little time, but he had heard enough talk and done enough research to know a thing or two about their enemy, and something was wrong.

“Where is the flagship?” he whispered to himself; the Prince was too bold a person to leave such a battle to others. “Where is the Prince?”

The particle barrier rang like a bell as ion beams glanced off of it; the first pass had blown the bombardiers' shielding, but had not taken them out of action. The Castle was swinging wide now, stars and ships hurtling dizzyingly past in the distance, allowing them a brief glimpse of Voltron as he slashed at a heavy destroyer. The view spun, stabilized, and focused once again on the bombardiers.

It was at this point that one particular member of the deck crew spotted a clue to Kevaah's question. Neline was indeed very young, with only a cub's understanding of what was going on. In her mind, all of this was merely a variation on the games that she and her brothers played with all of the other small cubs, games full of running and pouncing and ambushing unwary opponents. Her bright amber eyes had spotted a movement near one upper corner of the screens that, although she couldn't see exactly what those objects were, they moved precisely like something waiting to blindside her. She shrieked a warning, then scowled at the adults around her when they ignored that cry. Even her dark-furred favorite elder brother didn't look up, and he was usually pretty good at taking directions from his pilot. She humphed irritably, and then really put her best effort forward.

“ _AAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEP!!!”_ Neline shrieked as loudly as she could, pummeling his collarbones with her heels and hauling back on his ears with all of her strength, forcing his head up and his eyes to point in the right direction.

Erantha's fist thumped on the arm of her seat. “Kevaah, for the last time--!”

Kevaah, thankfully, was quicker on the uptake, and his finger shot upward to point at the suspicious movement. “No, she's right. There! Ghamparva fighters, approximately ten of them!”

Erantha choked on her words and gazed up at their unlooked-for foes in shock. Neline smiled smugly and stuck out her tongue at the surprised Blade.

“Luck,” Zaianne muttered. “Evasive action, Allura. _Chimera,_ 'ware the foe at eleven 'o' clock!”

The view spun and stars danced again, barred by thin, bright, pale-purple ion beams.

“I'm having trouble tracking them!” Coran said, scowling at his controls. “I know that they're there, but they keep slipping away from me. Castle's targeting systems can't hardly see them at all.”

The  _Chimera_ thundered past nearby, spraying seeker pulses in odd directions.  _“Chimera can, sort of,”_ Lizenne said tensely.  _“Modhri's working on an algorithm that will help, and we'll send it along the moment it's ready. They can obscure their signals all they want, but they can't hide the waste heat from their drives.”_

“Aha! Clever!” Coran replied, his own fingers blurring above his instruments. “Trust that magnificent fellow to find simple solutions to complex problems, eh? Always a valuable talent. Father once told me of one of the Green Paladins, that was old He-Who-Understands-Scary-Machines, about six teams back or so, who once foiled the plans of a mad genius with the flick of a pincer. Their foe had built this incredible mechanical monstrosity that was all set to cause widespread devastation on a moment's notice. Completely bomb-proof, so it was, and immune to all of the usual heroic measures, so what did old He-Who do? Why, he toddled around back of the thing and pulled the plug out of the wall socket, so he did, and then his team leader knocked its creator's block off while the device sputtered and died. He-Who was completely deaf—all Spurlians are, bless them—and therefore he had no reason to stand around and listen to silly people monologue. Ah, thank you, Modhri, that makes things ever so much clearer.”

Clearer, perhaps, as nine red spots appeared on the screen, but no easier to hit. The small, dark ships were still incredibly agile, and the Castle's tracking systems kept losing their targets whenever they were forced to dodge enemy fire. There was plenty of that; the particle barrier drummed and sang as ion beams impacted on it, forcing them away from the bombardier line, and from Voltron. Right toward a cluster of battleships, as a matter of fact.

A curse from the _Chimera_ confirmed that. _“They're firing directly at our shield generators,”_ Lizenne snapped, rolling the big Hanifor craft away from that precision fire. _“They're trying for a capture—not of Voltron, but of us! How long can Voltron function without the Castle, Allura?”_

Allura glared at the screens and increased their speed, avoiding a blast from one of the bombardiers, which had turned broadside to them in order to bring its guns to bear. “Almost indefinitely, but the Lions must rest and recharge after a certain period of time, particularly after a battle.” She winced as another bolt glanced off of the screens. “Coran's grandfather added the towers to the Castle specifically to act as fast-recharge stations for them. Without those, it can take vargas, even quintents!”

“Sort of important, that,” Coran added, sending another bright wash of firepower at a fighter that was menacing the _Chimera's_ engine section. “The Paladins are vulnerable when the Lions are sleeping, and all sorts of nefarious people knew that, back in the day. Lost a few teams for that very reason, as a matter of fact, which was why old Alfor insisted upon retrofitting the Castle in the first place. It also gave the more complacent of his Ministers some much-needed real-world experience, he said.”

“ _Without the Castle, then, it is only a matter of time,”_ Modhri said grimly. _“And we, of course, would be a happy bonus.”_

“ _One that will cost Lotor dearly, if he tries to take us alive,”_ Lizenne growled. _“I went to far too much trouble getting Khorex'Var away from my great-aunt to let the Prince have them.”_

Allura gasped, having momentarily forgotten the treasure that the Castle now carried; she was far too used to worrying only about herself and her team. Suddenly, there were hundreds of innocent people depending upon her for their safety. She bared her teeth at the dark ships that flitted ominously past her screen and boosted the ship again, this time toward one of Halidex's outer moons. “He will not have them, nor will he have us,” she snarled, rolling the Castle so that its main cannon faced the bombardiers, particle barrier spewing actinic death at their foes. “I will not face him in bonds again.”

Tilwass gauged the angles thoughtfully, and glanced at his boss. “Now?”

Lotor was smiling; so far, the plan was proceeding perfectly. “Now.”

Tilwass nodded to the bridge crew. “Take us in. Full power to the tractor beams, and keep an eye on that Hanifor. Somebody's been tweaking its guns. Be ready to disengage instantly, and tell everybody that we're executing Phase Two. Ready the hyperwave transmitter, and launch it the moment that we've got a grip on the Castle.”

“ _Vrepet Sa!”_ Lotor shouted, and the crew echoed him as the flagship roared out of its hiding place in the moon's shadow, somewhat above and directly behind the Castle of Lions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tries to play Jaws theme but messes up and plays Rocket Ride by Tom Smith instead*


	10. Game Called On Account Of Interference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grand space battles, yay!

Chapter 10: Game Called On Account Of Interference

Shiro bared his teeth at his own screens, doing his best to keep Voltron out of the line of fire while enabling his team to do the most damage possible. It wasn't easy; the huge Imperial craft had more or less disabled or driven off Halidex's home guard, and the ships still able to move and fight were too busy defending their crippled fellows to be of any help. That meant nothing to him now; he was used to fighting against enormous odds, and alone but for his team. The lack of outside help was in its way a relief, since he didn't have to worry about them. All the same, Lotor's armada was far larger than it had been before, and he wondered just how many garrisons he'd raided to have amassed so many. No wonder that the Ghost Fleet, whose own numbers had grown exponentially, were stretched so thin--

“ _Team!”_ Allura's voice broke into his thoughts, and the fear he heard in it got his attention immediately. _“We're surrounded—the flagship has caught us in a tractor beam, and the Ghamparva fighters are trying to kill the_ Chimera!”

Shiro hauled on the control beams, and felt Hunk and Lance boost Voltron hard into a fast turn. Sure enough, the Prince's huge ship did indeed have a grip on the Castle, and the  _Chimera_ resembled an owl beset by starlings at this distance. “We'll be right there,” he replied, adding power to Voltron's thrusters.

Strangely, the enemy ships let them go, for the most part. A few followed, spitting ion beams at them, but the rest peeled off on some other heading. Shiro had no time to consider what they were up to—the Castle and the  _Chimera_ were in serious trouble, and the enemy commander was too big of a target to pass up. If they could cripple or destroy the flagship and take the Prince, his armada would likely fall apart, ending the battle. Modhri had told him once of the battle in which he had earned his own ship and command, of how he had held that fleet together despite everything by showing them that the badly-damaged craft was not dead, that despite the blown-out command deck, there was still someone competent to give orders. He had won that battle for the Empire alone, on his own nerve and skill, and Shiro now knew enough about Galra to know why. Galra were pack-hunters, and without a leader, they could not function as a group.

“Let's see if we can wreck that thing, team,” Shiro said, studying the royal ship carefully. “I'm tired of having Lotor chasing us around.”

“Definitely should've kidnapped him on Thek-Audha,” Hunk grumbled, “and maybe Tilwass, too. Kolivan would've been happy to keep them for us.”

“Too late now,” Keith replied grimly, “and we really didn't need to have his fleet following us around, trying to get them back. What are we going to do with all of these guys when this is over, anyway?”

“I could teach them to knit hats,” Lance quipped, making the others roll their eyes.

“Not now, Lance,” Shiro sighed.

Pidge grunted dismissively, using the shield to deflect a stray ion bolt. “Worry about that later. Focus on getting that idiot away from our house!”

Once again, the enemy's actions struck Shiro as a little strange as Voltron barreled toward the flagship; the huge craft and its Ghamparva fighters released the Castle and the _Chimera_ almost instantly at their approach, redirecting their fire at the giant robot instead. The Castle's engines cut in hard, boosting it out of Voltron's way, allowing Keith plenty of room to swing the Sword. That mighty weapon banged hard on Lotor's shields, but did not—quite—pierce them.

“Someone's been toughening him up,” Hunk observed, boosting Voltron forward again for another attempt. “Think you can crack the shields on this one, Pidge?”

“Not right away,” Pidge admitted grudgingly. “Haggar was on that ship for a while, and she did some things to the aetheric shielding. Huh. Somebody else has been playing around with it a little, too.”

“That's weird,” Lance observed. “Wait—didn't someone say a little while ago that he'd stolen, like, ten guys from Nelargo, just after we banged up a few of his evil fighters that first time?”

“You're right,” Pidge said disapprovingly. “Lelannis mentioned it. Some of Modhri's uncles and cousins were kidnapped right out of the staff lunchroom. If Lotor's found someone who could lift that hex that Inzera put into them, then yeah, they could've souped up that big ship some.”

Keith growled. “Yeah, and we'll have to be careful about that—Avaris told me that all of their best witches were working for days to get that old lady's hexes out of the rest of the ship techs. It takes a pretty strong witch to shift it.”

“Worry about it later,” Shiro said grimly, eyeing the unusually-tough force-shield for weak spots. “Hunk, we'll need the scattergun again. Let's see how this holds up against massed fire.”

“Save it for the fighters!” Lance said, kicking away from the capital ship. “Here they come!”

Quite aside from the Ghamparva craft, swarms of drone fighters were pouring out of the larger warships now, their guns firing hailstorms of pale-purple annihilation, soon followed by the greater bolts from the parent ships, forcing Voltron away from both the Prince's flagship and the Castle. The _Chimera,_ on the other hand, shot past the flagship, pounding at the shielding above its engines with its own guns, dodging the return fire as best it could and picking off drones in passing to allow the Castle to get some distance.

“ _Thank you, Lizenne,”_ Shiro heard Allura say, and then blinked in surprise at the high-pitched yowl of an angry cub.

“ _Now what?”_ Erantha demanded, somewhere in the background.

“ _The bombardiers,”_ that was Kevaah, his voice an odd mix of tension and pride. _“They're about to fire on the planet again. She has an excellent eye for detail, doesn't she?”_

Shiro jerked his own eyes back to the line of warships in Halidex's orbit, which had reoriented themselves and were glittering with the lavender sparks of ion cannons about to open fire. The cub's howl of wrath was echoed by Pidge at that point, and Shiro shoved the control beams forward to send Voltron hurtling back toward the planet, trailing a roiling cloud of drone fighters behind him. “Dare I ask?” he said over the thunder of mighty engines.

There was a faint snort of amusement from Coran. _“Neline decided to accompany Kevaah up to the bridge, and refuses to leave. So far, she has been a great help. Oh,_ quiznek, _we're too late!”_

The bombardiers had fired. Bright lines of pale amethyst sent clouds billowing away as they descended through the atmosphere to strike at the royal city below, and blares of livid light burst up from the impact site; the damage was minimal, thankfully—force-domes had popped up like clusters of bubbles over all but the very edges of the city and had deflected the worst of it, but they were unlikely to take too much more of that kind of treatment without failing. The earth around the city was scorched bare by the horrific blast, though, and blasted down to bedrock in spots; roads and bridges had been shattered, and the forest outside of Uzenna Sa'ar was burning.

“I'm gonna _kill_ him!” Pidge shrieked furiously, and Shiro felt the anger-fueled surge of aetheric power pulse through the green Lion; a moment later, one of the bombardiers jerked as its aetheric shield was blown off, and he smiled to see the suddenly blue-lit craft turn its guns on its neighbors instead. “I'm going to yank his head off and ram it up his butt, and then I'm going to feed him to Shussshorim a bit at a time! I will teach a Hoshinthra to _sit up and beg_ for a taste of him!”

“I've already done that, Pidge,” Lance said grimly. “Remember? Antler Guy did it for cheese puffs.”

“We've got more cheese,” Pidge growled. “I will make Lotor-puffs, and it will be my special secret recipe.”

“Not with my Gouda, you don't,” Hunk said firmly. “I wouldn't waste spray-can cheese on that guy right now. Besides, Shussshorim wants to make a trophy out of him, remember?”

There was a moment of ominous silence from the green Lion. “Oh, yeah,” Pidge said darkly, “I remember.”

“Help me kill those bombardiers first, Pidge,” Keith said sharply, “they've already disabled the one you took over.”

“What the heck?” she said angrily. “How'd they get it shut down so fast?”

Shiro frowned at the disabled ship, which was floating innocently in Halidex's orbit, listing awkwardly to one side. “Manual kill-switch wired into the ship's AI,” he suggested. “That's the way I'd do it. They might have a secondary system on hand that they're saving for later, when we're not around. You've already hit the Empire fleets pretty hard with your little trick, Pidge. Someone was bound to think of a way around it.”

Pidge grunted as she helped Keith blow the shielding off of two more. “No fair.”

“Guys-guys-guys, _look out!”_ Lance yelped, and boosted Voltron into an unlikely forward flip down over the bow of the nearest bombardier; a storm of fighters and small warships thundered past overhead, spewing cannon fire into the roiling atmosphere. “Pidge, get ahold of yourself! Cool down, we've got too much stuff to do to throw a tantrum right now. Holy crow, where did he get those those little cruisers? I've never seen anything like them!”

“ _Akzorap-_ Class light destroyers,” Keith said, swinging the sword up to slice through the hull of the ship they were under. “Bantax gave me a file of Imperial warships to study. Those haven't been in production for two hundred years, but they were hot stuff when they were new.”

Voltron shook violently around them as one of the agile craft turned on its short axis in a move that would have torn a larger ship apart and sent ion bolts drumming over Pidge's shield. Hunk groaned at the jostling and boosted them out of the way around the curve of the greater ship's hull. “Well, they're still hot stuff. I'm gonna fire up the scattergun again, guys, we need to thin that flock out some, or they'll pound us to pieces!”

“Do it!” Shiro commanded, throwing Voltron into a spin; debris flew as the shoulder-cannon poured a flood of actinic seeker bolts out into the thick of their pursuers and sending a shower of debris into Halidex's upper atmosphere.

“ _Crud!”_ Keith spat, watching those bright meteors descend. “Get some distance! We can't go around bombarding the planet, too!”

“ _Team!”_ Allura's voice came over their comms again, followed by a high, rageful shriek from Neline. _“We need help—Lotor's not giving up on us! The particle barrier can't take much more of this!”_

“We see you,” Shiro replied tersely, once again changing Voltron's course. “Where's the _Chimera?”_

“ _Over here,”_ Modhri said, sounding irritated, their instruments showing that the Hanifor craft had been driven well past the outermost moon. _“They've managed to separate us from the Castle, and we can't get past those Ghamparva fighters to rejoin Allura. It's not the planet that the Prince wants!”_

“Oh, we'll see about that,” Lance said grimly. “Hunk, drop the scattergun. It's time for some long-gun action.”

Hunk obligingly removed his bayard from the socket, allowing Lance to bring up the more focused beam cannon, and Lance's hands danced over his Lion's controls to bring up the optimal targeting resolution. “Up!” he commanded, “and a little to the left... good, good... got it!”

The beam cannon spoke, sending a brilliant beam lancing out to slam against the flagship's shields, making them shudder and flicker under the force of it. The great ship backed away in a hurry, allowing the Castle to go to the _Chimera's_ aid. “Great!” Lance exulted. “Let's do that again!”

“ _Save it for the bombardiers,”_ Lizenne's voice cut across his sharply, _“they've called in reinforcements and are preparing to fire on the planet again.”_

Sure enough, the line of big ships had lengthened by several vast craft. Lance spat a string of words that would have earned him worse from his mother than a smack across the rump and threw Voltron into reverse, rolling the giant robot so that they swept between the planet and the bombardier line. With rare precision, he recalibrated the long gun to fire directly up the barrels of the Galra ships' cannons, blowing out their broadsides before they could fire.

“Nice!” Shiro congratulated him, only to mutter a curse of his own when the Castle contacted them again. “Lotor?” he asked with a disgusted sigh.

“ _Inevitably,”_ Coran replied sourly. _“How is he doing it? That thing shouldn't be that fast or maneuverable, and it certainly wasn't before! We just can't keep up. The_ Chimera's _faster, but he's bedeviling it so thoroughly with those little black fighters that they can't help us!”_

“Right,” Shiro growled. “Just give us a minute--”

“We don't have a minute, Shiro,” Keith cut in, “more of those big ships are lining up on the planet, guns hot!”

“ _We have to get out of here!”_ Allura said angrily. _“He's using those cities down there to keep you away from us—he's absolutely determined to have the Castle, and I will not play his game any longer! We will draw them away from Halidex, out and away from any vulnerable targets.”_

“Where?” Hunk asked, startled, as the Castle powered forward, coming around to a new heading.

“ _Outward,”_ Allura declared. _“We are very close to the edge of the Empire, and everything beyond it is an unknown. According to the Castle's own star charts, there is absolutely nothing but empty space for lightyears all around in this direction. If Lotor wants us this badly, he may follow us to where we have fewer disadvantages. Follow me!”_

The watery blue circle of a wormhole gate sprang into being some distance away, and perforce, Voltron and the _Chimera_ followed the Castle in. Lotor's forces pursued, trying to block Voltron and the big Hanifor ship, but neither would be stopped, and it was with a mixture of relief and guilt that they slipped through into elsewhere.

In the upper orbits of Halidex's outermost moon, Tilwass nodded in satisfaction. “Worked like a charm, sir.”

Tilwass grinned fiercely at the empty patch of space. “And the transmitter?”

“Also working like a charm,” Tilwass replied calmly. “Slipped through their shield as slick as a thursa minnow and attached successfully to one of the towers. Old Marzad's got magic hands with tracking systems, I've got to admit it. It'll tell us where they've gone in about... now. Ah. Figured as much. They're out on the far edge of the Pilsaster system. Just over the border, in fact.”

“Follow them!” Lotor said, triumph ringing in his voice; he'd visited that system before. He had fought an early campaign for his father there, as a matter of fact, and had won it. “Stand ready to call in the detached squadrons on my mark.”

“Yessir,” Tilwass said, gazing warily at the depths of unknown space. “And the damaged ships?”

Lotor glanced irritably at him. “Leave them. They have served their purpose.”

Tilwass's brows pinched in disapproval at the Prince's callous behavior toward his own men. Pendrash had told him that Governor Kherig would do what he could for them, but that might not be much, considering the damage to the planet. Poor return for the faith that those brave soldiers had put in their commanders, but there was nothing more that Tilwass could do. He dearly wanted to swat the young royal and shout at him for an hour or so, but what he said was, “Yessir.”

The screens showed only a blessed emptiness with stars scattered like diamonds in the distance, and the faint ribbon of a nebula lay over the starscape like a dropped silk. It was peaceful out here, and very quiet; the only sounds on the Castle's bridge at the moment were the soft radio hash from the nearest stars and Neline's growling. The little girl was standing up straight, feet planted firmly upon Kevaah's shoulders, her little fists gripping his hair tightly as she dared the screens to sprout enemies again. Erantha gazed moodily at the fearsome child and glimpsed the future as she did so, seeing a proud young woman standing defiantly at the controls of her own battleship. _If we survive this,_ she thought sourly. Erantha had made a habit of studying the Empire's methods of space warfare used over the centuries, and Lotor had broken a very large number of rules. Unfortunately, those transgressions had been remarkably effective. If Lotor prevailed—an unpleasant put present possibility—he would very likely inform others of the best methods for fighting a particular nigh-invulnerable opponent. They would probably have to kill him, she mused, and ran one thumb over the hilt of her blade. He was said to be a fine swordsman. _As fine as Kevaah, perhaps,_ something insinuated slyly in the back of her mind.

Annoyed by that thought, she glanced at the vat's bastard sitting nearby, his unnaturally orange-gold eyes fixed narrowly on the screens. Probably not, she thought. Child of artifice though he was, Kevaah's skills were absolutely authentic and could be respected as such. She turned away with a frown, turning her mind firmly back to the subject at hand. Skilled or no, the Prince's hide would be a good deal easier to get through than an atinbuk's.

“Status, team?” Allura requested, sounding tired and annoyed.

“ _We're fine for the moment,”_ Shiro responded. _“Voltron's holding together; not having a Robeast butting in this time helped.”_

“ _Small mercies,”_ Lizenne added. _“The_ Chimera's _shield generators will need maintenance after this, but we're otherwise all right. And the Castle?”_

“Intact,” Coran said shortly, running diagnostics. “The fix we got from the Drinths is holding nicely, although I'm getting nasty messages from the engineering staff. They had to spend the entire battle fine-tuning the particle barrier and core shielding, and they didn't like it. Nothing out of the ordinary, of course; Pop-Pop's colleagues did the same every time old Alfor got the Castle into a fight, though I must say that some of your relatives have a rare grasp of invective, Modhri.”

Modhri chuckled. _“Each insult carefully polished and handed down from father to son like priceless jewels. Some of those epithets have been in the family for thousands of years.”_

“Yeah, and I think that I recognize a few of them,” Coran said, wincing at a particularly heated message. “Ooh. Last time I saw that one, it was the winning entry in the Gepoptu All-Comers Freestyle Blasphemy Competition. Oop! Incoming communication from Halidex.”

A window opened on the screens, showing the face of King Trosimon, his silky crest of greenish hair damp with stress-sweat. _“There you are,”_ he said wearily, _“we were worried that you had taken damage.”_

“I'm sorry for leaving so precipitously, your Majesty,” Allura apologized, “but we had to lure the Prince away from the planet. He was using you as a foil to separate us from the Lions.”

“ _We're aware,”_ Trosimon replied, waving her apology gently away, _“And your trick worked. Lotor has left the System, abandoning his attack upon our cities, and his damaged ships as well. Kherig is taking those in hand despite his own injuries.”_

“ _Are they serious?”_ Shiro asked.

Trosimon gestured a negative. _“A broken arm and a few cuts, honorably sustained while attempting to block a warship from firing on the cities. The damage to the planet was minimal, thankfully, and loss of life was small. Our Emergency Corps are responding well, and_ yes, _Miss Varda, your uncle and cousin are safe. They were in the Palace kitchens, helping with the preparations for my daughter's birthday party when the attack started, and I will personally laud Tamzet's skill with the household defenses when it is time to hand out medals.”_

“ _Good to know,”_ Shiro said over Pidge's huge sigh of relief. _“Any word from the Fleet?”_

“ _Not as yet,”_ Trosimon said uneasily. _“They're very busy at this time. I'm a little surprised that you don't have your hands full with the Prince at the moment.”_

Coran smirked smugly and twirled his mustache. “Old though it is, the Castle's still faster in transit than any Imperial ship we've seen yet. I don't doubt that he'll catch up with us eventually, but it may take him a bit to pinpoint our location, much less show up. We've gone a long way out.”

“ _So I see, and you'll have to be very careful,”_ Trosimon said urgently. _“That region of space is very dangerous—I've seen a great many Galra explorers venture past the Pilsaster system, and none of them have returned. We've sent unmanned scouts and probes in as well, and those don't last long either. My wife's spies have had occasion to question a few Ortakans—they live somewhere out there, but all they'll tell us is that the border is closed by order of the_ Kraalsada, _whoever or whatever that is, and we can't afford to--”_

Whatever else he might have said was lost in a burst of static as well over a hundred warships warped in around them. It was a masterful feat of three-dimensional positioning that the team had no time to admire, for every last one of those warships, great and small, opened fire all at once. There was no time for speech beyond that point, but most of them recognized the gambit—this was almost identical to their first encounter with Lotor's forces, during that abortive attempt to take Shomakti Station nearly two years ago. This time, however, Voltron was assembled and Shiro was in the black Lion, and they all had a great deal more experience to bring to bear. Pidge let out a wildcat yell and slammed her bayard into the Lion's port; Shechethra had whispered something intriguing in the way of shields in the back of her mind, and on that advice, she had acted. The Shield blazed, and burst into a swarm of much smaller shields that whirled around the vulnerable support ships like autumn leaves in a haydevil, deflecting enemy fire with remarkable precision. Both arms freed, the red Lion made an adjustment to the Sword, and Voltron surged forward to bring a much longer, heavier blade to bear. A short sword was one thing, they knew, and quite a good thing at that. Claymores, on the other hand, were something else again. Surging forward, the angry giant brought the vast blade around in an awesome overarm slash and cleft a battleship in half, then turned blazing golden eyes upon the flagship.

Tilwass flinched at the force of that yellow glare. “I think that we've upset them, sir.”

“All to the better,” Lotor replied, meeting Voltron's gaze with a glare of his own. “An enraged opponent is one that does not think clearly. Are the detached squadrons still able to join us?”

Tilwass glanced at one of the comm officers, who saluted. “Sir!” he said promptly, “all detachments may come on command. Commander Thakranz has taken the least damage to his forces.”

“Summon Thakranz, then,” Lotor told him, “and be ready to summon the others on my mark.”

“ _Vrepet Sa,_ sir,” the comm officer replied, relaying those orders with dispatch.

Tilwass nodded at this exchange. The detached squadrons served a dual purpose, firstly to conceal the Prince's true strength, and secondly to keep the Ghost fleet occupied while the main armada drew their quarry out of hiding. He'd handpicked the smartest and sneakiest of the armada's captains for the job, and had specified hit-and-run tactics to keep them from taking too much damage while they were at it. According to the reports, they'd been leading Yantilee's privateers a merry dance; he wondered distantly how the defenders would react to their foe's sudden absence.

None of that mattered now, for Voltron was approaching in a spiraling rush, warships coming apart at the seams at the touch of that gigantic sword. Tilwass winced inwardly at each explosion, even though he knew that casualties would be light; he'd had a word with the Nelargo techs about that, and they'd been perfectly happy to accommodate an officer who actually wanted those under his command to survive. As a result, each and every ship had had the safety measures thoroughly evaluated, overhauled, enhanced, upgraded, and in many cases, installed. Tilwass had kept an eye on the drones doing the work during that process, and... well, it had both amazed and distressed him. He'd never really considered just how little the well-being of the soldiers mattered to High Command.  _Why should it?_ His native cynicism had asked him, in the dark places of his mind.  _There were always more soldiers; they would never run out. Who cared if a few thousand were lost on a campaign?_

Tilwass watched another warship snap in half and shuddered.  _I do,_ he thought, and hoped like hell that General Pendrash knew what he was doing. Even as he thought this, he felt the deck heave under his feet. As large and powerful as this craft was, the pilots did not want to get into a punching match with Voltron and were moving it out of the way of that monster, bringing the shields up to full and firing every gun they had. Just in time, Thakranz's squadron warped in out of the night and pummeled Voltron's backplates with heavy fire, forcing it to break off its attack to deal with the more present foe. Even so, Tilwass didn't relax, and for good reason—a moment later, an incandescent white beam from the Castle slashed through Thakranz's ships, and the deck heaved again as the pilots rolled them away from the ancient royal ship. Even so, the flagship shuddered, alarms sounding from the instruments as the great blue-green Hanifor ship swept in to fire directly upon the command deck in a bold move that chilled Tilwass's blood. The Rogue Witch had gotten tired of having the Prince around and wasn't much interested in taking him alive. A few of the Ghamparva fighters zipped up to drive the science ship away, and soon regretted it. In a fantastic pivot on least three axes that made Tilwass's heart ache for the Empire's foolish casting-off of that magnificent pilot, the  _Chimera_ swept its main guns up and away at precisely the right angle to catch two of them right in the weak point—that tiny area around the drive section where the shields were just a little bit thin.

Tilwass glanced at Lotor and saw him gazing up at the  _Chimera_ with eyes full of hate and fangs bared in a fearsome grimace. “Summon the rest!” he barked at the comm officer, who scrambled to comply. “I grow weary of such antics!”

They weren't the only ones. Voltron seemed to have set its heart upon reducing the flagship to wafer-thin slices and was approaching again, using the huge broad blade as a shield at times to deflect enemy fire when it wasn't chopping open warship hulls. Tilwass wished that things had been different, that he could have sat down with the Paladins and asked them just how five separate pilots could coordinate one single craft so perfectly that it moved and acted more like a living warrior than anything else. Voltron was magnificent in its fury, and he could not help but wonder just what Zarkon had done to get himself disqualified from flying that thing all those years ago. And what was so special about it that the Emperor would destroy large chunks of the Universe to get it back, for that matter. The Official Histories were just a bit vague in a number of important places, and the accounts from other archives were few and spotty.

It was just about at that point that Tixard's squadron showed up, blindsiding the robot from below. They'd taken some damage at their previous posting, but not enough to slow them down much. Voltron spun away from their fire and manifested that scattergun again, returning their fire with a golden flood of seeker pulses that knocked out several of the smaller ships. Udrent's squadron came in next, forcing the two support ships out of position with their massed fire, clearing the way for Lasht and his crowd to warp in and join the party. Just as planned, Narach's squadron dropped in off to one side, so that the Prince's forces essentially englobed Voltron, the Castle, and the _Chimera_ in a sphere of fire. Tilwass heard the Prince laugh—at long last, he had the enemy right where he wanted them.

“There are too many of them!” Hunk shouted, heaving at the control beams. “Guys, I don't know about you, but I'm getting some serious flashbacks here. Remember Shomakti Station?”

“Yeah,” Keith said breathlessly, “and that first time we hit the Center. At least this time there isn't a huge force-globe around everything, or asteroids everywhere.”

“There might as well be,” Shiro grunted, hurling Voltron to one side to avoid another ion bolt. “We can't get through, and we can't leave the Castle or the _Chimera._ Keep targeting the flagship. If we can take that out, the others will probably lose heart. Pidge, how are those shields holding up?”

Pidge glanced up at the embattled support ships, who were still holding their own against the massed enemy. “So far, so good, but we can't hold out forever. I don't think that Voltron was designed for facing down entire space navies, and the technology's advanced a lot in the last ten thousand years. He's going to have to recharge sooner or later.”

Shiro glared at the flagship, which was currently being strafed by the _Chimera_ again, and was returning fire violently. “Lance, let's try the long gun again. See if you can't make Lizenne's job easier.”

“Gotcha!” Lance replied, reaching for his bayard. “I'm going to pop that jerk's bubble so hard that— _whoa!”_

Suddenly, they were not alone. Seemingly out of nowhere, a second fleet had arrived, and the sight of them made everybody stop and stare. There weren't all that many of them, perhaps only fifteen or twenty, but they were _huge,_ easily three times the size of the Castle, and the biggest of them was larger than the _Quandary._ Each one was boldly striped in blue, gray, and bronze-spangled black, and the communications broadcast that they emitted upon arrival came with such strength that it nearly shorted out everybody's receivers. The message itself was a peculiar collection of sounds—reptilian sibilants, doglike growls and barks, and rumbling, crunching noises that would have been more at home in an avalanche. Lance blinked in perplexity and touched his Lion's comm switch. “Sorry, what was that? I don't think that the reception's all that good.”

There was a pause, and then the newcomers tried again; this time, the burst of mixed sounds had been pushed into the background, but the message still left something to be desired: _“Now then, now then, what's all this, then?”_

Lance burst into helpless laughter, and Keith sighed. “All right, these guys owe me geek points, too. Try again, people.”

“ _It's the universal translator,”_ Allura said thoughtfully. _“It's being jammed somehow on their side, and our own is having some trouble with the language.”_

There was a brief confusion of sounds from the great ships, and finally the message came clear. _“Intruders!”_ a deep voice said sternly, _“You are in violation of Partnership borders and will cease this unnecessary violence immediately. Stand down, all of you, and cease fire! You have already broken numerous laws by your actions; do not make things worse for yourselves. Your transgressions thus far include trespassing, unregistered warfare in a restricted zone--”_

“Shiro?” Hunk said in a small voice as the great ship thundered accusations. “We'd better do what the big guy says. I just got a feel for those ships, and I _really_ don't want to fight them.”

“Hunk's right,” Pidge added, sounding no less daunted. “I am not gonna mess with those ships. They're live ships, like Jasca and Clarence, and they like their job.”

“ _The Castle doesn't recognize these people,”_ Allura said, sounding awestruck, _“and the scanner data... I can hardly believe it! Coran, have you any idea of who these people are?”_

Coran humphed thoughtfully. _“Chashmarans, probably. Remember what Nasty told us at dinner, on that day when Shiro was first able to join us at table again? We seem to have done a bit of inadvertent border crashing, although this show of force is a bit much, in my opinion. Best thing we can do right now is stand down; I don't want these big lads angry with me, either, and neither did the team that encountered them in the past.”_

“ _Good enough,”_ Lizenne sighed. _“With any luck, they'll give us a chance to explain our situation to them.”_

The border-patrol commander finished his litany of offenses, and the enormous ships advanced toward Lotor's armada; it didn't surprise Shiro in the slightest to see the nearest warships backing away. Voltron stayed right where he was, and while Pidge kept the shields up around the Castle and the _Chimera,_ Keith had the presence of mind to deactivate the Sword. _“Power down all weapons, I said,”_ the commander growled ominously, _“and stand ready for judgment by... now, what is that?”_

Voltron was visible to them now, the surrounding warships having backed off far enough; a moment later, the Paladins felt a faint singing sensation through the very substance of the Lions. A scanner, they realized, and one of remarkable power. Whatever it detected, it surprised the border patrol as well.

“ _Found it in the deep files, sir,”_ a different voice said in the background. _“It's the Five-Are-One, Last seen some eight hundred and twenty-three_ ereclar _ago, and was working as a peacekeeping and rescue team. The Chashmaran_ Kraalsi _of that time put a commendation on their file and awarded them a provisional right of passage. That's still in force, since the privilege was never abused or rescinded.”_

“ _Interesting,”_ the commander said. _“Alert our current_ Kraalsi, _then—he'll want to officiate, if only to learn how a mechanism so old can still function, and why the thing has decided to get into a fight well outside of its territory. Hear me, interlopers all,”_ the commander's voice thundered again, _“consider yourselves detained and placed under the authority of the_ Kraalsi _of the Chashmaran Territory of the Partnership. You will be required to explain your presence here and the reasons for your intrusion. You are not permitted to leave, nor to continue your argument. Take this time to rest and reflect; the_ Kraalsi _is a very busy Phaelrah, and will require some time to arrive.”_

Hunk heaved a huge sigh. “Cool. I could use a nap. Ooh, and a shower.”

Shiro leaned back in his seat and frowned at the enormous craft before them, not really sure if this was a good idea, but unwilling to start anything. Relatively brief though the battle had been, both Voltron and his pilots had expended a great deal of energy. “Sounds like a plan, Hunk. Allura, be ready to put on your diplomat hat, we're going to need it.”

“ _So I see,”_ Allura replied a bit faintly, _“although we may have a small advantage. I can only hope that Lotor won't... ah,_ quiznek.”

The Prince's flagship had surged ahead suddenly, straight toward the border patrol's command craft, and there was a snort from the  _Chimera. “Did you really think that the young fool would take this quietly?”_ Lizenne asked.  _“After all of that work and careful planning to capture us, only to have the prize snatched away? Yes, there goes the rest of his armada as well. Let's see how the patrol ships handle this.”_

“Bad idea, sir,” Tilwass said, one hand on Lotor's shoulder, his eyes on the scanner readouts. “I don't like the look of those.”

Lotor was actually trembling in fury, and he pushed Tilwass's hand sharply away. The force of his gaze might have put a hole in the screens if he were any closer to them. “I will not lose them,” he snarled, “Voltron is _mine._ Galra are not subject to the laws of aliens!”

Tilwass sighed. “Sir, behind any body of law, there is force of arms. That's what makes a law enforceable. The guys with the biggest guns have the most force, so their laws carry the most weight. Those are really, really big guns, sir, and we've got no backup.”

“We outnumber them,” Lotor said darkly.

Tilwass stepped away, knowing that tone of voice and not wanting to be within arm's reach. “We outnumbered the big red space monster too, and it just didn't care. I don't think that these will, either.”

“Then I will teach them!” Lotor leaped up out of his seat, baring his fangs at the patrol ships. “All ships, attack! Let them learn that the Empire is not to be trifled with!”

“Sir, no!” Tilwass said, even as the ship surged forward. “I've heard--”

Lotor's fist crashed across his face, knocking him to the floor. “I will _not_ be thwarted this time!” he shouted, standing over Tilwass's prone body. “Voltron is mine, and I will have it! All ships, open fire!”

Wisely, Tilwass stayed down, waiting for the stars to leave his vision and feeling the decking shudder beneath him as the guns opened up full-bore; the Prince still had his sword, and Tilwass had no intention of becoming Lotor's next victim. He knew full well that the boy was better at bladework than he was, and in any case, Tilwass had a stun pistol tucked into an inside pocket. All he needed to do was to wait until Lotor turned his back. He had just laid his hand on the grip when the world went white around him, and the ship lurched sickeningly, followed by a deep and terrible groan that resonated right through the decking itself. Tilwass knew that sound; it was the cry of a ship's drive system shutting down all at once, hard, and without the careful procedure that kept the fiddlier bits of the mechanism from taking damage.

“ _No!”_ Lotor screamed. “What just happened?”

“Drive's dead, sir,” the engineer on deck said in a horrified voice. “Engines, insystem thrusters, weapons, everything. We've still got power to the utilities, gravity, and life-support systems, but we can't move or fight. Marzad, can you do anything?”

“ _Not a thing, and you can tell that young idiot to get out and push if he needs us to be anywhere in the next day or two!”_ the old man on the engine deck snapped back through the comm. _“Whatever is out there has fried all the leads to about two-thirds of everything, and we're damned lucky that that was all that was fried. If Arschan had been any closer to that junction when it blew, we would have lost him as well. We can repair it, that's not any trouble, but it's going to take a while. Ye gods, how did they do that? How do you teach a disruptor pulse to affect one set of systems and not another? That blast should have knocked out everything, not just the motive and weapons systems. Wonderful. Now I'll be worrying at that problem for months, I just know it.”_

Tilwass vented a pained grunt and heaved himself to his feet in time to see the Prince shove the engineer aside, shouting useless orders into the comm. The boy was in a fit of frustration and fury and would likely kill someone if he wasn't cooled down soon. “Sir,” he said to the Prince's unheeding back, “I really wish that I didn't have to do this.”

It was over in seconds. Tilwass pulled his stun pistol and shot the young royal squarely in the back. Honorless, perhaps, but Tilwass was from a far lowlier background than his commander was, and knew exactly how the definition of honorable behavior changed between street level and high society. The deck crew watched with wide eyes as the Prince crumpled to the deck, and Tilwass put his gun away and approached the comm.

“Just ignore that, Marzad,” he said wearily. “Lotor's a bit overwrought and needs to take a nap. Do what you can, but I'm not expecting miracles.”

There was a sigh from Engineering. _“Thank you.”_

“You're welcome,” Tilwass glanced down in disgust at the recumbent Prince, and then turned to the comm officer. “Put me through to the border patrol, will you? Broadcast channel. No point in keeping this a secret.”

The comm officer gulped, but complied. Tilwass stepped up to the screen and gazed meditatively upon a small fleet that had effectively disabled an entire armada in less than a minute, and without taking so much as a scratch. “Patrol, I'm Lieutenant Tilwass, Prince Lotor's second-in-command. Sorry about the fuss just now, but my boss isn't used to disappointments like this, and overreacted. We'll stay put until your... uh... Kraalsi arrives, and will hear what he has to say. Are you willing to tell us anything about that?”

The deep voice from the great ships humphed approvingly. _“Indeed. The Kraalsi is the highest legal authority in this Territory, and the supreme justice. You, the Five-Are-One, and their supporters will be required to present your reasons for this conflict, and why you have come here to pursue the disagreement. The Kraalsi will weigh these reasons against the transgressions perpetrated within our Territory, and will mete out indulgences or punishments as the situation requires. Be upon your best behavior, aliens; the Kraalsi is merciful, but that mercy has limits, and there are actions and attitudes that he will not tolerate. The hearing will take place aboard the_ Tamirashagor, _the largest ship in my fleet; all command and top-ranking technical personnel must attend, excepting only the ill, the injured, or those uninvolved in the dispute by reason of age or non-combat and non-command status. Am I understood?”_

Tilwass rubbed wearily at his face. “You are.”

“ _Very good,”_ the patrol commander boomed, and cut the connection.

Tilwass stood silently for a long moment before shaking his head and turning to face the bridge crew. “With any luck, we'll be able to talk our way out of this mess. Sentries, take the Prince back to his quarters to sleep it off. Hopefully, he'll have cooled down enough to think straight by the time their supreme judge gets here. For now, we wait, make repairs, and hope like hell that he hasn't gotten us into something that we can't dig ourselves out of.”

“Sir...” one of the pilots asked nervously as two robot troops lifted the unconscious man and carried him away. “What if he has?”

Tilwass shrugged. “Then we face whatever comes with what courage we can muster. It's all a soldier can do in times like this. If nothing else, the Paladins might not get off the hook any easier than we will.”

Everybody turned to the screens, where the brightly-colored battle robot was disengaging down into its five component parts, and watched as the Lions headed back to the Castle at a pace that Tilwass could only call polite. The Paladins weren't taking any chances, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't done this recently, but a gigantic THANK YOU to everyone who leaves comments or kudos to this story. It really brightens our days, and keeps us going when the general stupidity of the world outside has us wondering why we don't just go become hermits out in the middle of some dank dark forest. (Reason: Cryptids don't have internet or reliable plumbing.) We adore you all and are really glad you continue to enjoy this giant turkey of a story, thank you all so much.


	11. An Unassailable Authority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, again. Real Life got kind of awful and then I had to take my cat to the vet for the final time yesterday. Spanch and I just weren't in a good place for a while. Things are more settled for now, so we finally felt we could safely continue. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Chapter 11: An Unassailable Authority

To say that the Voltron Force was shaken by this turn of events was an understatement. It wasn't the arrival of the border patrol that had done it, they'd been warned several times about the dangers of crossing into this region of space. It hadn't even been the size of their opponents. They were all quite used to dealing with things that were bigger than they were, and at least this one wasn't actually trying to eat them or attempting to bash the Castle into splinters. The shutdown pulse, on the other hand, had been specifically tuned to affect aetherically-powered craft, and not only had the Castle been forced into powering down, but the impact had rung Voltron—and everyone in the Lions—like a bell, inside and out. As a result, the ancient battle machine wasn't the only one who'd had their toggles joggled. Allura, who had a deep connection to not only the black Lion but the Castle as well, had been forced to sit down hard on the pilot's dais until the room stopped spinning. She didn't hurt anywhere, but it was very disorienting, and she wasn't alone in that.

“Ye gods,” she heard Kevaah mutter in a stunned voice. “That was... very silent.”

For once, Erantha didn't have a snide response to offer, and Neline ventured only the most tentative of squeaks. Allura lifted blurry eyes to the screens again and saw that Lotor's armada was in much the same condition, the running lights on the ships having gone dark and the craft themselves drifting aimlessly. A moment or two later, Coran made a surprised noise as Tilwass's broadcast came through their speakers, and Allura heaved herself to her feet with a shaking sigh. “Team?” she asked. _“Chimera,_ can you hear me?”

“ _We can,”_ Modhri answered, sounding shaken. _“Lizenne's eyes are spinning a bit, the dragons are complaining and so is our ship's AI, but we're more or less intact.”_

There was a groan from Voltron, and it sounded like Shiro. _“We're... we're here, Allura. Give us a minute. Voltron can't tell up from down right now, and neither can we. God, what was that?”_

“Some sort of aetheric-system disruptor pulse,” Zaianne said, pushing herself upright again; she'd fallen to her knees under the force of the blast. “The Order has been working on a weapon of that sort, the better to cripple Zarkon's space navies, but our prototype is small and very crude. Can you return to the Castle?”

“ _Working on it... yeah. The Lions want to come home. Come on, Black, disengage the connectors... first set... second set... yeah, that's it... there we go. Wow. Coran, did the... did the other team ever mention anything like this?”_

Coran tugged nervously at his mustache, his own bones humming with the residual effects. “No. It may not have existed back then. We were pretty much the only people out there with aetheric-driven ships at that time, courtesy of our agreement with the Balmeras. Everyone else was using fission, fusion, ion, or liquid- or solid-fuel drives, and there was one people that were using their own organic waste products to power their ships. Efficient, but smelly. This... this is new, and... ooh. The techs down on the engine deck did not like it at all.”

“ _Great,”_ Pidge sighed. _“That thing in the old palace tower, back when we had to deal with the Gantars, that was a little like this, but it was calibrated for Altean ships only. This thing will shut down anything Quintessence-powered. Including me. That was really unpleasant. I can't even count my fingers twice and come up with the same total right now!”_

“Take it slow, team,” Allura said, bracing herself against the pilot's posts. “Let's not make any more mistakes. We'll meet you in the Paladin's lounge.”

A chorus of acknowledging grunts answered that statement, and the Lions began their approach with the careful precision of the severely rattled. Allura could feel the black Lion's relief as he settled into his hangar, and stepped down from the dais with care for her wobbly knees. “Zaianne?” she asked. “If you feel that you can manage it, would you please brew us some of that space-cocoa mix that Hunk made up? I feel that we will all need that comfort.”

Zaianne glared at her shaking hands. “I'll do my best.”

Lance collided heavily with the wall to the right of the doorway and staggered back a couple of steps, glaring at the opening that he knew had to be there. He could see it, and indeed he could clearly see all three of it, but it kept _dodging_ him. He tried again, only to thump into the lefthand wall, and stumbled back, frustrated. “Shiro,” he complained, “tell the door to stop moving. I don't feel good and I want to sit down.”

“Easy, buddy, I've got you,” Hunk said, draping an arm over Lance's shoulders and easing him through the doorway; unfortunately, he got the angle slightly wrong and hit the wall himself on the way in. “Ow.”

They eventually managed the trick by dint of teamwork, clinging together in a group and inching into the room one step at a time. Even so, Shiro nearly fell afoul of the room's odd construction. The Paladin's private lounge was a large room with a recessed area ringed with padded seating that was perfect for private planning sessions, with the rest of the room left bare and level in case anyone needed to pace and rant. It wasn't often used; the main lounge was larger, more comfortable, and—this was the important part—closer to both their bedrooms and the kitchen. Shiro put a foot wrong and nearly fell face-first into the recessed area, but Hunk caught him around the waist and pulled him back just in time. By general consensus, they settled for flopping down on the floor. Shiro leaned his head against Hunk's broad shoulder and sighed. He hadn't felt like this since the early days of his recovery, when just going to the restroom by himself had been an achievement.

Keith groaned and tried to lean on Pidge, who fell over and took him with her. “We're going to want to find a way to block that kind of blast,” he muttered, to a soft chorus of agreement.

A little time later, Allura and Zaianne arrived, step by careful step, with Allura carrying the cups in a basket and Zaianne bearing a large, lidded carafe of something that smelled like the very elixir of life. _“Hot cocoa,”_ Hunk moaned yearningly. “Allura, Zaianne, I love you.”

The rich, steaming drink did much to revive them, but they stayed precisely where they were. None of them would willingly trust their legs until the pale, shaky feeling left them entirely. Still, Shiro felt the call of his responsibilities, and he eventually put his empty cup down. “Is everyone all right?” he asked.

Allura waggled a hand. “Everyone with aetheric ability feels very much like we do right now, I'm afraid, and it will take a while for the Castle, the _Chimera,_ and the Lions to recover fully.”

“There was some worry about the pregnant women, but they were largely unaffected,” Zaianne added. “Pregnancy usually nullifies a woman's powers, the better to conserve that energy for the developing infants, and that turned out to be a very good thing. I'm minded to lodge a complaint against the patrol fleet's commander for risking harm to the unborn cubs. I would certainly like to shout at Lotor about that.”

Lance grimaced and held his cup out for a refill. “So, all of the passengers are okay?”

Zaianne nodded and warmed his cup. “Perhaps a bump and a bruise here and there, the engineers are tired and stressed, and the new mice have truly earned their keep today. Little Neline has been given her first example of the curveballs that the universe might throw at a ship's captain, and is suffering what Khaeth's father once termed 'a blown cool'. She'll be fine, but even her father had some difficulty removing her from Kevaah's shoulders. She does love him.”

Pidge snickered. “And Erantha gets all huffy about that. Are they all right?”

“They're no less dazed than we are,” Allura replied. “We made sure that they had a pot of cocoa to share between them, and that Coran had a mug of it, too. That still leaves the question of the near future, though—what are we going to do now?”

Shiro shrugged. “The best that we can. We're dealing with a people and a technology that we know next to nothing about. We'll follow the rules for now—we don't have much of a choice. Hopefully, the Kraalsi will be a fair judge. If nothing else, the previous team that made it out this far left a good impression on them. A commendation and provisional right of passage isn't something to be sneezed at. I wonder why they've held themselves aloof for so long?”

Hunk yawned and refilled his cup. “Think, Shiro. Our end of space was a big, screaming mess back then. Zarkon made it a bigger one. It kept getting bigger for ten thousand years. Now, we're making a whole different mess. I don't know about you, but these people kinda strike me as folks who don't like getting into other people's messes.”

“Point,” Keith said. “Well, the mess has come to them. If we're lucky, they'll just shove us all back over the border and close the door.”

Lance shook his head. “I don't think so. Remember what Trosimon said? None of the exploratory ships ever came back. We might have to make a dramatic exit, and I'm not sure if that's possible, and my brain's still too messed up to think of a way around that aetheric zapper. Ooh, and my Lion doesn't really want to think about it right now, either.”

“Mine, neither,” Pidge said grimly, “which should tell you how messed up she is. What're we gonna do now?”

Shiro picked up his cup and held it out for a refill. “Wait. Sleep. Do our best. Hope like hell that Tilwass can keep a grip on Lotor. With our luck, the Kraalsi is probably six inches high, looks like a quail, and is allergic to mammals.”

Zaianne smirked. “Has your talent given you any hints?”

Shiro took a long sip before answering. “No. It's been... very quiet for some time, actually. It's as if that big Vision between me and Zarkon tired it out.”

Zaianne nodded and refilled her own cup, shaking the last few drops out of the carafe. “Lizenne tells me that it can happen that way, sometimes. In many ways, oracular talent is perhaps the most inconsistent and difficult of the lot. There simply is no bringing it up on command, I'm afraid, and no controlling whether it blooms or fails. On the other hand, there is very little that can block it when it chooses to manifest. For now, we must take care of ourselves. A quick meal of comfort food, a bath, and a good nap would go a long way to making us all feel better.”

The Paladins glanced at each other, but nobody could think of a better solution, although Lance did raise a finger. “I think Lizenne mentioned mental shields once. Should we ask about those?”

Zaianne humphed thoughtfully and stood up, the empty carafe dangling from one hand. “It couldn't hurt.”

“There are several kinds of aetheric shields,” Lizenne told them the following afternoon; Zaianne's advice had been good, and they were all feeling much better. “Most of them wouldn't do you much good, not against a disruptive burst of that magnitude.”

Pidge sat back in her chair and frowned at the main lounge's windows. The Castle and the _Chimera_ were back online now, and so was Lotor's armada, but none of those ships had moved so much as an inch. Coran had reported over breakfast that while the patrol fleet's commander was an overbearing sort, he wasn't a barbarian, and had sent his own rescue shuttles to pull survivors out of the wrecked ships. Coran had offered to help, but that offer had been turned down; the commander had told him that it wasn't his responsibility right now, and that didn't sit well with Pidge.

“Well, what would work?” she asked.

Lizenne smiled wryly at the acid in her tone. “Modhri's ward, for one. All of his male relatives felt a mild shock, like carpet static. He felt nothing at all. Unfortunately, that solution is impossible for you. I've heard of a related technique, although it's very rare and strictly an emergency measure, where one expends most of one's energy to crystallize one's power around one's self in a physical encapsulation. Such a walling-off prohibits very nearly anything from getting through, but the practitioner then goes into a state of suspended animation that can last for millennia if there are no witches powerful enough to undo it.”

Hunk shook his head. “That's not going to get us anywhere. Let me guess—if you do that, you can't get out by yourself?”

Lizenne gestured a negative and nibbled at a cookie. “No. The practice was more common in the days before the Sisterhood War, when there were still witches of the old strength among the population. Even so, it was very risky. When I was a little girl, my Aunt Korial once took me to the Hapkharimask Museum of Ancient History, to see a new exhibit. The centerpiece of that event was one of those encapsulated witches, and she had been in that shell for nearly thirteen thousand years. No living witch today has enough power to release her, and it's likely that doing so would cause her more harm than good. Her entire world has gone, and has left her behind.”

Shiro shuddered. “Definitely not an option. Can you think of anything that would work for us?”

Lizenne frowned at her cookie. “Nothing in my own training would do it, but a purely Galra style would be the wrong approach anyway. Galra witches are largely solitary, remember, and covens went out of style when Queen Zaianne's pupils were killed off... hmm. Have you had a circle session recently?”

“No,” Allura said, surprised. “Not recently. We've been far too busy.”

Lizenne sighed. “You might want to start making time for regular sessions. The whole point of Voltron is that it is greater than the sum of its parts—not just physically, but aetherically as well. When you are joined seamlessly in a circle-trance, you can tap into magnitudes of power and ability that are well beyond the ordinary, and that might be what we need for this project.”

Lance brightened up. “Hey, yeah! And the Lions are feeling better now, too. Want to try it?”

“Sure,” Keith said thoughtfully. “It might come in handy for when we face down Haggar again. If she throws another death hex at us, I want a shield that'll put it down hard this time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Shiro said with a smile. “Should we head for the practice room?”

Lizenne shook her head. “Let's try it right here. If the need arises in the field, you won't have the luxury of a quiet, dark place, or comfy floor cushions. Besides, the children will howl if we take the cookie jar with us.”

They glanced over at the cookie jar. It was a large piece of antique pottery, beautifully glazed in a whirl of subtle colors, and large enough to hide a small child inside. It was probably the most popular piece of crockery in the Castle right now, for Hunk had made it his mission to keep the thing full of delectable treats at all times. This was not an easy job, considering the sheer number of cookie-loving cubs they had aboard right now, to say nothing of the mice and the dragons.

Allura puffed a laugh. “Quite. All right, we'll try it.”

“Good,” Lizenne said. “Is everybody settled? Then, my Pack, let us be as one.”

Lizenne was right, Shiro thought as the room faded away and the starry cosmos claimed their conscious minds, they would have to make time for more of these sessions. It felt _good_ to link up with the others like this, and the star-washed blackness of the Mindscape was wonderfully soothing after the recent stresses of the physical plane. It was so quiet out here, and the Lion-bond that held them together and to the Lions was unutterably beautiful. Joining up into the full circle was almost instinctive, and he breathed in the power and passed it along in the eternal cycle: _\--:empower/ramify/strengthen/purify/heal/foresee:--_ and reveling in the smooth balance of forces.

_Well done,_ Lizenne said from outside the wheel of light.  _Concentrate on that. Hold the link lightly, and consider the prime attributes of the Lions._

That was easy. They knew each Lion's strengths like they knew their own names. The endless strength and malleability of Time, and the power that past and future could yield. The great motive forces of Fire and Ice, that created and destroyed. The unceasing determination and innovation that was Growth, and the ultimate permanence and presence of Earth.

_Good,_ Lizenne said.  _Permanence and presence will serve as a good base for a defensive structure. Hunk, consider a fortification. What shape speaks to you of safety?_

Hunk didn't reply in words. Instead, a golden shield-wall snapped into being around them, as perfect a ring as one could possibly imagine, reinforced and buttressed strongly within, with a place of peace at its center.

_Good,_ Lizenne said.  _An excellent base. How will you build upon that, Paladins?_

It was a puzzle worthy of the team's attention, and they played around with combinations of offensive and defensive fortifications until they noticed that they weren't alone. Standing all around them at a polite distance were dozens of women and girls, all watching in avid fascination, their aetheric signatures as bright as butterflies. The witches of Khorex'Var, they realized, drawn to the very unusual display of power and skill occurring right in their midst. Lizenne laughed, rueful merriment that scattered itself over the Mindscape like gems.

_I should have known that we would attract an audience,_ she said wryly, to the crowd's amusement.  _Do you have the basic idea, team?_

Allura emoted a smile. _I think that we do. It still needs work, but if we can draw enough power from the Lions, we can not only defend both ourselves and Voltron from attack, but attack in turn as well. The combinations are nearly endless!_

_So I see,_ Lizenne said, and cast her eyes over their audience. _Have we learned something today, everyone? Well done. We might want to end the session here, though. Something tells me that it's getting on for dinnertime._

Hunk yelped in surprise. _Oh, crud! I promised to show Avaris how to make fish tacos tonight—it's okay, Shiro, it's just timpli-fish this time, but yikes, I'm late!_

Everyone laughed, and they came out of the Mindscape with smooth ease, feeling as though they had just had a good workout on the training deck—a little tired and sweaty, but not exhausted. Lizenne smiled and handed them all fistfuls of cookies, which they devoured without hesitation.

“Excellently done, everyone,” she said proudly. “When you think that you are ready for it, we can test that defense in the practice room. I'll set wards in there so that nobody will get caught in the fallout when I start bouncing hexes off of you.”

“Awesome,” Keith said, eyes glinting at the thought of this challenge. “Hah. Now I almost want to go head-to-head with Haggar again, just to see her expression when her death curses bounce right off of us. Thanks, by the way.”

Lizenne nodded. “You're welcome. Hunk, will you want help in the kitchen?”

“Always,” Hunk said around a mouthful of cookie.

Tilwass sat at the conference table, his chin resting on his crossed wrists, eyes hooded as he listened to the damage reports. He'd summoned all of the armada's captains here for a talk, now that the rescue-and-recovery effort had been completed... with help from their captors. Just drone ships, the rescuees had said, with cutter- and hauler-drones aboard to remove debris where necessary. Drones that possessed a strength and dexterity that even the Sentries couldn't match. Drones that had stabilized and carried the wounded back to the shuttles, and had delivered them to safety. The captains were nervous, but hopeful, and so far things could have been a lot worse. Of the ships that had kept their distance from Voltron, damage was very minimal. Of the ones that hadn't, damage was damned near total, and Tilwass was deeply thankful that there was only one Voltron.

Lotor, of course, wasn't. Predictably, the boy had woken up from his unscheduled nap in a temper and had spent the past few days boiling with barely-suppressed fury. He'd let off a bit of it in the training decks, but he'd run out of combat drones yesterday and nobody wanted to be his next sparring partner. He still hadn't forgiven Tilwass for stunning him, but Tilwass hadn't really expected him to. What must it be like, Tilwass wondered, to have only one or two authority figures in one's life, and ones that didn't really give a damn what you did, so long as you didn't actually plot against them? What must it be like to go through life with almost total impunity for one's actions? Tilwass could barely imagine it, he who had been handed off to the Military only three weeks after his eighteenth birthday, and had been working his way up through the ranks for most of his life. Idly, he wondered what Zarkon had been like at Lotor's age, and then gave it up as a silly notion. At Lotor's age, he'd been training to fly the Lion.

“So, what you are saying is that we have no choice?” Lotor asked, jolting Tilwass out of his reverie. “We truly cannot afford to be hit with that disruptor ray again?”

“That's so, your Highness,” Captain Dhak said gravely. “The newer ships might be able to take another hit without too much damage, but anything older than the _Ketchkurad-_ Class craft will blow their power cores if they catch another blast. That's over half of your armada right there, Prince, and the Fringe-colony garrisons will all have reported your acquisition of their ships back to the Center by now. You won't be able to get more ships from them, not without attracting inner-world opportunists in droves. There is a very large price on your head right now.”

Captain Tixard, who had lost his ship to Voltron's wrath, shrugged helplessly. “We can't fight them. We can't run. Even Voltron has made no attempt at either. There is no safe place for us within the Empire, nor outside of it... at least not on this vector. We have no choice at all.”

Lotor flicked a glare at Tilwass, who merely raised an eyebrow. “And Marzad cannot find a solution?”

Tilwass shook his head. “Asked him first thing this morning, sir. He's been up for two days straight with the rest of them, trying to find a way. No luck. It's outside their skill set.”

Lotor blinked, and so did the captains. _“Outside_ their skills?”

Tilwass nodded. “Remember Sergeant Hokora? One of just three women in the entire Armada, and the only witch of any strength we've got. The other two ladies were left behind at Halidex. She's attached herself to the Nelargo team, since one of them has caught her eye. The beam felled her as well as our drive. She's recovered completely, but she says that it was as much of an aetheric weapon as a mechanical one. The Chashmarans have techno-aetheric weaponry, sir. We can't block it. Haggar probably couldn't block it. The only good news is that Voltron couldn't block it fully, either. If it could, the Paladins and their friends would be long gone by now. Men don't do witchery, and it would take a full-blown legendary sorceress to do the trick. Unfortunately, there just aren't any witches of the old strength left.”

Lotor growled. “So, we must face the judgment of an alien bureaucrat instead. That doesn't mean that--”

Something in Tilwass's pocket went _beep._ Tilwass pulled out a small comm and set it on the table. “Yes?”

“ _We've just got a message from the patrol commander, sir,”_ the comm officer's voice came tinnily over the link. _“He says that the Kraalsi has arrived and is preparing for the hearing. We have two hours to get ready, and has repeated that all command personnel and senior technicians are to attend. No mechanical or common soldiers allowed, but cyborgs are all right, so long as they're the boss of somebody, and that their battle programming is deactivated.”_

Lotor cocked a perplexed glance at the comm. “They will permit weapons?”

“ _He didn't mention them,”_ the comm officer replied, sounding no less confused. _“Just cyborgs, sir. And that the Lions were to be there as well.”_

Lotor smiled for the first time in three days. “Ah. We will go armed, then, and perhaps fortune might favor us after all.”

Tilwass sighed, but nodded. “We can hope, sir.”

“Ho-lee crow, that thing's big,” Lance observed as they approached the looming bulk of the _Tamirashagor._ “It's bigger than the _Quandary._ A lot bigger. Pidge, just how big were the Sikkhorans, anyway?”

“Pretty big,” she replied in a subdued voice. “About half again as big as Yantilee, and they liked having a lot of elbow room. Osric was a trade ship, so his original crew was pretty small, but the cargo space was massive. This is military. Oh, wow, is it military.”

There was a brief pause from the green Lion.

“I wonder if they'll let us have a look around?”

There was a burst of snickering from Hunk, and Shiro couldn't help but smile. “We can hope, Pidge. First things first, though. Did they tell us where to park, Coran?”

“Inside,” Coran said from the black Lion's rear seat, where he sat beside Allura and watched the screens curiously over Shiro's shoulder. “I assume that they'll have a dedicated area, and possibly even traffic controllers.”

“They'll need them,” Keith pointed out, watching the long stream of transport shuttles from the Galra ships. Look at all of those!”

Shiro glanced over at the transports, and then at the rearview screen that showed the paltry pair of shuttles that they were escorting. Most of Modhri's family had been allowed to stay aboard the Castle, but the top engineers, for whatever reason, had been required to come along. Not that they had been unwilling—oh, no, Foreman Girosk and his best men had stepped right up for that duty, with a long hardcopy list of complaints held ready in the stolid fellow's capable hands. The dragons had insisted upon coming as well, along with a representative group of mice. Neline had been dissuaded from going with great difficulty and under even greater protest; Shiro's ears were still ringing from her shrieks of fury at being parted from Kevaah.

“I'm sure they'll have something,” Shiro reassured him, and then it was too late for any more commentary; vast doors were opening in one side of the gigantic ship now, and sent lines of lights remarkably like those that demarcated airport runways into nearby space, forming paths leading inside. Purple on the right, Shiro noted thoughtfully, and Voltron's signature colors on the left.

“Clever, that,” Coran approved quietly from the rear. “Saw something like it back in the day, as a matter of fact. The Supordlen Royal Orbital Starport. Very fancy operation, very exclusive. So exclusive, in fact, that you had to be at least a Master of the Canopy to so much as get a job cleaning restrooms there, and the requirements for even that lowly status were stringent! It had all the modern conveniences, and all the pretty lights and comforts one could even think of desiring. Then a space monster ate it.”

There was a snort from the yellow Lion. “Did you have to fight the space monster?” Hunk asked.

“No, actually,” Coran said with a smile of his own. “The Royal and Noble classes had made themselves very unpopular with the lower ones by that time, and the whole place had been lit up like a stellar cluster for a big molting-day celebration for one of the demi-kings. Absolutely everyone with so much as a tuft of royal-yellow bristles on their bellies was there, making all kinds of noise. Very expensive, very much an attention-getter, and my goodness, it certainly got some attention. Alfor and the others were required to risk their lives a bit, yes, but only to give the beast a medal on behalf of a grateful populace.”

Allura giggled. “Did the monster like the award?”

“I think so,” Coran mused. “It ate that, too, and felt it to be quite tasty.”

Shiro rolled his eyes but declined to comment, turning his attention to the clearly-drawn flight path ahead of them. Small craft with bright lights zoomed in to escort them through the titanic hatch and into a docking bay that took the word cavernous to a whole new level. It was clearly the bay where the search-and-rescue craft had been docked, but he hadn't realized just how large and how many of them there were. Shiro had to suppress a shudder; just what had they stumbled into here? Still and all, they settled the Lions down into a spacious area set well away from the long row of Galra troop transports and waited until the landers from the Castle and the _Chimera_ set down before disembarking. There was breathable atmosphere out there, and pressurized to a level comfortable for Humans and Galra alike, although it was a little cooler than he preferred and the gravity was just a bit heavier than he was used to.

The rest of his team dropped down onto the decking beside him and watched as the others disembarked from the landers in reasonable order, although Soluk uttered a loud _gronk_ just to hear the echo. It certainly made the Galra on the other side of the docking bay jump, and startled no few of their own party. Tilla nipped his ear for this unseemly display, but other than that, there was no trouble. Shiro couldn't help but notice how the Galra in their party clustered around Lizenne and Modhri, however; half-protective, half seeking protection, looking around warily at the unfamiliar surroundings and not even realizing what they were doing. It was instinctive for them, even as Lizenne's and Modhri's stony expressions and tense postures were for themselves—those people were their kin, and they would defend them against any threat.

“Visitors,” an unfamiliar voice, deep, quiet, and surprisingly polite said from behind him, and Shiro and the others whirled in surprise to face the newcomer.

It was one of the biggest people he'd ever seen. Fully as tall as Yantilee, but far more Humanlike in build, except for the head; that was startlingly familiar in a way that none of the Humans present would have expected. Despite the armor, the sprinkling of metallic-bronze spots over the space-black skin, and the piercing, emerald-green eyes, there could be no mistaking the resemblance.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hunk said, backing away. “Anubis knight!”

The Chashmaran did indeed have the elegant features of a canine somewhere between jackal and black labrador retriever, as well as the huge, upstanding, and sharply-pointed ears of the ancient deity, although whether the alien possessed the god's striped mane as well was unknown. The helmet might be open-faced, but that was all. The huge ears turned curiously in Hunk's direction, but the eyes swept dutifully over their comparatively small and very mixed band. “If you would please follow me,” he said mildly, “I will guide you to the stateroom in which the Kraalsi awaits. Please be on your best behavior, and show appropriate respect; the Kraalsi's duty as judge concerns only the very highest-level and most difficult matters. He does not often take the time for a matter of border security, or for matters occurring outside of his jurisdiction.” The huge guardsman nodded politely at their group. “Your peoples are not usually his concern.”

Allura nodded back with careful formality. “Would that certain of our own governments adhere to such sensible policies. Lead on, sir.”

The Chashmaran waved a beckoning hand and strode away with graceful strides, supremely balanced on long, muscular legs. Despite his size, the Paladins observed that this person possessed great speed and agility, and he could probably bench-press a troop lander. The ears suggested a very acute sense of hearing, the long nose a sharp sense of smell, and none of them had missed the white glitter of sharp teeth when the guardsman had spoken. They might be able to take him in a fight—maybe—but none of them really wanted to try it.

Neither did the Galra on the other side of the bay, Shiro noticed; he could see several of the huge Anubis-like guardsmen herding Lotor's party toward a door, and could even make out the Prince and Tilwass from here, standing at the fore of a cluster of ranking officers. From the look of the young man's stiff posture, the Prince was still in a lousy temper, and Tilwass seemed worried but determined to see it through. Shiro felt that he could relate, and wondered just who had put that good and honorable man in such a difficult position. Shiro looked away with a mental shrug. Perhaps he'd be able to ask him later.

The walk to the stateroom consumed several minutes, but at last they entered a space that had obviously been intended for large assemblies and ceremonies. Graceful designs in harmonious colors had been stenciled onto the walls, and the floor had been enameled with a corresponding design. Elegant light fixtures high on the walls filled the room with a clear and comfortable illumination, and a large, semicircular desk had been placed about two-thirds of the way into the room. Standing along the back wall were more of the dog-headed soldiers, and to each side of the desk stood individuals of a completely different race. They were not as tall as the guards, but they probably weighed more—both of them were more or less Humanoid, but had been apparently built out of boulders. Each one had a row of gemlike eyes that encircled the upper part of their heads, and they stood with a stiff formality and wore garments that suggested that these were court functionaries rather than warriors. Standing off to the right in splendid isolation was another Anubis-like alien, this one attired in what looked to be military dress-formals, his honors glittering bravely on breast, collar, and shoulders. And yes, Shiro noted; the doglike head did indeed sprout a mane of stiff, glossy, shoulder-length hair, striped horizontally in bands of bronze and black. He looked so much like Anubis in uniform that no few of the Paladins wondered if his people had ever visited Earth, and if so, none of them could blame the early Egyptians for wanting to worship them. However, even this robust official seemed to pale in comparison to the personage standing... well, no. “Standing” was the wrong word for the being behind the desk, since the word implied having legs, and this person had none.

The Kraalsi was a snake, or at least had snakes in his ancestry, and creatures similar to him had had their places in Human mythology as well. The Kraalsi was a deep cobalt blue, the scales shining like cabochon sapphires along his supple constrictor's body, the ventral plates a slightly lighter blue and rippling with a subtle iridescence. It was impossible to tell exactly how long he was, but Shiro was willing to estimate that about thirty to thirty-five feet of serpentoid was coiled neatly behind that desk, rising to what might have been a manlike torso, although the Kraalsi had four arms instead of two, the six-fingered hands held in a complicated gesture that might have been a meditative pose. The rest of the alien was unknowable—three concentric rings of hover-rods encircled the Kraalsi, hiding the torso and head behind several layers of long silken curtains patterned with intricate geometric designs of emerald and black. He was an imposing figure that radiated authority and arrested the eye, and Shiro felt himself falling into a parade-rest stance out of sheer habit. His training recognized this person as a five-star general at least, and probably higher.

“Wow,” he heard Lance mutter behind him. “Now, _that's_ a judge. The last time Dad had to report for jury duty, he caught a criminal case. It lasted for weeks 'cause the defendant kept making scenes in the courtroom. I bet that nobody makes a scene in his courtrooms.”

“Quite,” he heard Lizenne say, “although I find his lack of adornment interesting. This is a very high official, but aside from those curtains, he wears no jewelry other than a few rings on his hands. they're not even terribly impressive rings. I've seen mere petty-crime judges that were far more gaudily attired than that.”

“Perhaps the curtains fill that requirement,” Allura suggested, “or maybe the rank itself is enough. Did the last team to come here record any details, Coran?”

“Not really,” Coran admitted. “They didn't actually see all that much, having made contact more or less as we did out here on the border. They mentioned that the big fellows with the ears were called 'Kolkurra', I think, and the stony ones were 'Hakkox'. The big blue gentleman over there is a Phaelrah, and they said that the three races got along perfectly well with no strife at all between 'em, which is nearly unheard of. Well, there was some mention that Kolkurra teenagers could get a bit rough, but that's true the Universe over. In any case, most folks back in known space thought that the whole escapade wasn't terribly important, and many of them would have been perfectly happy if they'd never come out here at all. It was sort of swept under the rug along with anything else that didn't interest the politicians of the time, and quickly forgotten. I only know about it because Father was serving in the Castle at the time and had to listen to the Paladins ranting about the matter, and about what a pain in the fundament the Grand Duchess had been on the trip back.”

Their guide stopped at that point, turned and raised a hand for their attention. “Stand here,” he said quietly, “and remain standing for the duration of the hearing. The Kraalsi will not require abasements of any sort from either party because it is unclear at this time who is at fault. At the sound of the chime, please make whatever gestures of respect that might be appropriate to a high government official, and be aware that this hearing is being recorded for future study. Please do not speak out of turn; all necessary viewpoints will be heard in full. If, during the hearing, the speaker of the other group says something that you wish to add to, raise a hand and say, 'Point of Clarity' and wait for the Kraalsi to give you leave to speak. Please do not attempt to lie or to twist the truth; the Kraalsi possesses the ability to detect such prevarications. Also, please refrain from any unseemly show of temper, and kindly refrain from any attempt to commit a violence upon any person or persons within this room.”

Kevaah, who had been sizing up the sixteen-foot-tall guardsman since he had first appeared, asked, “What happens if we do?”

The guardsman's lower jaw dropped in a doggish smile, ruddy tongue curling humorously. “I and my colleagues have stun pistols, and will not hesitate to use them.”

Kevaah nodded. “Fair enough.”

There was a burst of angry shouting from across the room; someone among Lotor's crowd had lost their nerve, and the captains were trying to keep order. The Kolkurra guardsman, naturally, turned to look, allowing Tilla to sneak up behind him; it really was remarkable how quietly the dragons could move, and Shiro took some comfort in that even this huge alien warrior didn't notice her approach until she sniffled his ears. He made a short but very distinct yip of surprise, as a matter of fact, his ears slatting straight back and his eyes going very wide while she sniffed him over, and gave her a disbelieving look when she sneezed and giggled at him.

“Sorry,” Shiro said as the guardsman backed away from a beast even bigger than he was, “that's the way that dragons get to know a person. You've passed her test, by the way.”

The Kolkurra blinked, but managed to keep his hand away from his stunner. Before he could reply, a chime rang three times, sending insistent vibrations through the air that attracted everyone's attention, and there was a mixed flurry of salutes and bows from all sides. Lotor, notably, did neither. He stood stiffly, every line of his body expressing outrage until Tilwass grabbed his arm and forced him to offer the standard soldier's salute. The Kraalsi rose a little higher behind his desk and spread out his arms in what might have been welcome, silks whispering faintly over his scales.

“This Hearing begins,” he said in a wholly appropriate dry, toneless, rasp of a voice. “Three days prior to this event, a great disturbance occurred here: the border was breached by outside combatants. A battle ensued in this restricted space. Great damage was done to many ships, with considerable injury and loss of life. Much unlawful behavior has been observed: crimes against Partnership Law; crimes against Imperial Law; crimes against individual cultures and persons. Are all in readiness to observe and to report?”

“We are,” every Kolkurra and Hakkox present chorused in a thunder of voices. “The Truth shall be known.”

The Phaelrah made a gesture that suggested a respectful salute, which the Chashmarans returned. “Patrol Chief Asirazi, have all disputants been brought forth to speak?”

The Kolkurra in dress-formals cast his emerald glance around the room and spoke in the deep, booming voice that had stopped a space battle three days ago. “They have, Kraalsi. All who were involved are present, save for those who were too badly injured to come.”

The Kraalsi's hands described what looked like approval. “Report your observations of the events of that day.”

Patrol Chief Asirazi drew himself up to his full height, assuming a parade-rest position that would have awed and delighted the most rabid of drill sergeants. “Yes, Kraalsi. It was at twenty-three _aseda_ past third chime on the fifteenth of Chetra in the Year of the Fortuitous Oitheral, that our routine scans pick up the signals from large energy bursts where none should be. The signals did not coincide with any known stellar or spatial phenomena and the location of such activity suggested an intrusion; that particular area on the border is registered as 66790-ketch-thad-urda, and it lies directly congruent with the outermost solar system claimed by the Empire. Understandably, it is a hotspot for border-crossings—the Ortakans regularly use that route for trade, and occasionally bring home trouble as well as exotic goods. There have also been numerous instances of single exploratory craft illegally entering Partnership space. This was exceptional even for such events, and it was my decision to investigate. When my fleet arrived, we observed a full-blown space battle, and one in peculiar balance: On the one side, approximately four hundred and seventeen craft identifiable as Imperial Military of various classes and grades. On the other, two large support ships and one very unusual battle mechanism. Despite this disparity in numbers, these three were holding their own against the opposing multitude. Upon further study, it was revealed that the battle mechanism is none other than the Five-Are-One, last seen in this space no less than eight hundred and twenty-three _ereclar_ ago. This and its two allied craft stood down when I issued the standard warning. The Imperials did not, and fired upon my fleet. I gave the order to fire the Daranba Cannons, which temporarily disabled all intact craft. It was then that I ordered that the Office of the Kraalsi be contacted. I did not feel myself able to properly address such a situation.”

“These truths are appreciated,” the Kraalsi intoned, saluting again, and then turned to observe first Lotor's party, then Shiro's.

“It is a peculiar situation,” he rasped thoughtfully, hands describing shapes in the air that suggested curiosity. “The Five-Are-One and its pilots in those days were tasked with the duty of peacekeeping and disaster management. Many governments were said to have had the right to call upon its aid at need, and it was this need that brought it into Partnership space that one time prior to this event. That it still functions after so long is remarkable, despite the artistry and advanced science that went into its creation. Nevertheless, it is still a device, and devices must follow the direction of their operators; such personnel might do other work than putting out fires. Situations change greatly over time, as do cultures and mores. Therefore, I will require the explanation of the observed assailants first. Who commands the Imperial ships?”

“I do!” cried a loud and angry voice, and Lotor strode to the fore of the mass of worried Galra captains with Tilwass right behind him. “I am Prince Lotor, son and Heir of Emperor Zarkon. The mechanism you call the 'Five-Are-One' is known to us as Voltron. It belongs to my father and to the Empire, and it is my task to recover it from those who stole it!”

“Point of Clarity!” Keith shouted right back, shooting one hand into the air. “Zarkon went crazy and blew up two planets with Voltron before the rest of his team stopped him. Besides, we didn't steal Voltron, Voltron stole _us,_ and that tyrant should have retired over ten thousand years ago, anyway.”

The chime rang again, sharply. “You will wait for permission to offer objections,” the Kraalsi hissed sternly. “Nevertheless, it occurs to me that information is lacking. I would know the full circumstances surrounding the dispute over the Five-Are-One. Who among those assembled have the most complete history of the mechanism? Speak, and make yourselves known to me.”

“I do!” Coran sang out cheerfully. “Coran Heironymus Wimbleton-Smythe, here, Seneschal and proud retainer to King Alfor of Altea. I was there when Voltron was built, actually, for all that I was barely out of elementary school at the time, but I sort of grew up with the thing, and worked closely with the team prior to this one.”

“I also know much of his origins, and of how the Lions function,” Allura added. “I am Princess Allura of Altea and Paladin of the black Lion, and my father was the red Lion's pilot.”

Shiro felt the urge to speak as well. “I'm Takashi Shirogane, also the Paladin of the black Lion. I have... discovered information that isn't in the conventional records.”

Lizenne stepped forward to stand with them. “I am Lizenne, originally of the Ghurap'Han Lineage, but have since divorced myself from them and am in the process of establishing my own House. I have studied Voltron as well, both the information kept in the histories of many peoples and my own observations from working with its current pilots. I have also made a study of its previous team, of which Emperor Zarkon was the leader. Shall we begin from the beginning, Kraalsi, or are you more interested in the current mess?”

The Kraalsi's hands described a gentle fall and came to rest upon the surface of the desk, and he leaned forward slightly. “The information recorded by my long-ago predecessor is scanty at best. The pilots of that time were not willing to impart more than the bare minimum of information, nor did they keep their promise to return one day and tell her more. Her own writings suggest that this was due to mischance, rather than a disinclination to adhere to an agreement. It was observed that the state of interstellar politics in their home regions was extremely troubled at that time, and worse in the years afterward. Prince Lotor, have you corresponding historians among your staff, or do you yourself have knowledge enough to corroborate their information?”

Lotor gave the Kraalsi a haughty look. “I know what my father told me of it, and I have the full reports of all of their recent exploits. I need nothing more.”

Tilwass raised a hand. “I've got a bit more than that, Kraalsi. I've been doing a lot of studying since the Prince started hunting Voltron for his father.”

“And you are?” the Kraalsi asked.

“Lieutenant Tilwass Drokash'Sar, Kraalsi,” Tilwass replied calmly. “The Prince's second-in-command.”

A pair of long blue hands lifted, fingers spreading out suddenly like the wings of a butterfly. “Good. Proceed, then, from the beginning, and tell me of the mechanism's origins and purpose.”

This took some time, despite their best efforts to keep the tale as concise as possible, even to the point of twisting Coran's ear whenever he tried to wander off on one of his tangents. Throughout it all, the Kraalsi listened in gratifying silence until they had finished, and remained silent for over a minute afterwards.

“These truths are appreciated,” he said eventually in a low hiss. “A unique mechanism, and uniquely versatile. It is just as well that it is self-aware, and capable of choosing and rejecting its operators. Such science is not unknown to the Partnership, but it is rare, and best left in the hands of its creators. For what purpose does the Emperor wish to possess it?”

“Conquest,” Allura said flatly before anyone else could speak, “and completion; the black Lion's rejection of him tore a piece out of what was left of his soul. There may also be other powers at play as well—Haggar has plans for the Lions, I know that much, and there is also a Power that has lain hidden for eons within them both that desires Voltron as well. Zarkon means to have the entire Universe as his sole possession, and that would be an unmitigated disaster for all life within the cosmos.”

“Point of Clarity!” Lotor shouted angrily, and the Kraalsi waved a permissive hand in his direction. “That is nonsense. Father possesses no powers save his own, and they are mighty. He would not otherwise have been able to build, maintain, and expand the Empire for so long.”

“Point of Clarity,” Shiro snapped back, and received the official go-ahead. “Half of what keeps him going is an addiction to Quintessence. The other half... I've seen it. I don't know what it is, but I've seen it, and it's not him.” Shiro shuddered at the memory of the monster in his Vision. “All that I know for certain is that it isn't a physical entity, and that its ultimate goal is the destruction of all life, everywhere. It's got Haggar, too—she infected him with it, possibly by accident, in a botched experiment over ten thousand years ago. Lotor, Quintessence can be sustainably harvested from any given planet. Haven't you ever bothered to ask why your father simply drains them dry--”

“Stop,” the Kraalsi said sharply. “Define 'Quintessence'.”

Lizenne raised a hand. “Quintessence is nothing more or less than the life force of not only living organisms, but the planets and other environments that they inhabit; all matter strives toward life of one sort or another, no matter how basal or elemental the form. The old Galran term for the substance is _Tahe Moq,_ or 'Blood of Creation', and the manipulation of one's personal or environmental supply is the basis of all aetheric science and ability. It can be extracted, and it takes the form of a golden fluid; when applied to one's person, it has the effect of instantly healing wounds and illnesses, and can be used to extend one's lifespan, although this is inadvisable due to the high likelihood of addiction. When purified and concentrated, it can be used as a highly-efficient power source for everything from household appliances to mobile space habitats. It can, with great care and the construction of high-efficiency equipment, be a sustainable resource. Without that care and efficient usage, the extraction process can kill whole worlds. To this date, approximately eight thousand, six hundred and fifty-seven planets have suffered total extinctions of all life to feed the Empire's need for cheap energy. This is a conservative estimate; the true number may be much higher than that. I am told that it is possible to revive these dead worlds, but only if the stolen Quintessence is returned, and even then it may be hundreds of thousands of years before they are habitable again. Even raw stone can die, Kraalsi.”

The two Hakkox functionaries, who had been standing like statues thus far, flinched and stared at her in horror. The Patrol Chief shuddered visibly, his ears slatting straight back, and the Kraalsi himself seemed to swell in outrage as all four hands described an intricate warding gesture.

“Such knowledge is known to the Partnership, through scientific collaboration with allied peoples,” he rasped coldly. “Such profligate use and abuse of the resource to the detriment of living planets is forbidden; it is a sign of _egroctha,_ and that state is not tolerated in any person or group, much less one in a position of authority. Significant damage of any sort to a living planet is not tolerated.”

Pidge raised a hand. “Point of Clarity. I'm Katie Holt, and you can get really mad at Lotor now, Kraalsi—in order to get us out of hiding, he ordered his ships to fire their cannons at the capital city of Halidex. We had to come all the way out here to fight it out, or he would have blown a really big hole in the landscape. The forest was on fire when we left.”

The Kraalsi did not hiss. Instead, he made a sharp clacking sound, like two rocks being knocked together. “I will have the full tale of this. Describe to me the full sequence of events from the point of Voltron's reemergence. I will hear it from both the Empire's point of view, and that of the Paladins.”

“That's going to take a while,” Hunk said, raising a hand. “I'm Hunk Garrett, Kraalsi, and it's been a really super-busy few years.”

“Concisely, then,” the Kraalsi said shortly, “touch upon only the significant events.”

Hunk straightened up and did his best. “Well, the first we knew of any of this was when Pidge's—that's Katie, it's a nickname—her dad, her brother, and Shiro over there all went out on a science mission to a moon called Kerberos...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has been so wonderful with their comments, and we thank all of you. They keep us going and make us smile. Please stay safe, stay healthy, and take moments in your days to be happy.


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